


Righting the Wrongs

by briteyes, historynerd1783



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Historical Figures, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briteyes/pseuds/briteyes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/historynerd1783/pseuds/historynerd1783
Summary: A chance encounter between two soldiers alters the course of their lives.Disillusioned by the Army, Lt. Alexander H. Faucette wants nothing more than to return to his civilian life in New York City. He is awaiting transport home from Afghanistan when a charming young officer catches his attention in the mess hall and strikes up a conversation. Alex is forced to consider some truths about himself... and where John fits into his ambitious plans for the future.Combat veteran Lt. John Laurens is days away from returning to South Carolina when the beguiling Alex Faucette sits across from him at lunch. But with his family and responsibilities waiting for him at home, does he have the liberty of following his heart?*********This multi-part story was born from conversations imagining, "What if...?"...there were a scenario in which Laurens doesn't die, and Frances Eleanor has the father she deserves?...Hamilton and Laurens were free to explore all aspects of their relationship?...Hamilton were making his desperate climb to the top in today's world?In this collaboration, historynerd1783 covers John Laurens' point of view, while briteyes takes Hamilton's.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens, Lams
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Kabul

Alexander dropped a pile of books into his duffel bag, where it made a satisfying ‘ _thump_ ’ on top of his fatigues. More books followed, along with several notebooks, three cases stuffed with writing implements, and more pads of Post-It notes than he’d realized were hidden in the back of his desk drawer. He tested the weight of the bag, shook his head, and began taking some of the heavier volumes out again.

The rest of his personal gear fit into a case and kit bag by the door; belongings he planned to donate to the base were stacked at his feet. He was going to walk out of here carrying everything he cared to own, and he was _never looking back_. The thought didn’t cheer Alex, exactly, but it was enough to sustain him. He was going back to New York. He was going to let his hair grow out and wear clothes in patterns other than ‘MultiCam.’ There would be takeout from his favorite Thai joint, and women in sundresses, and—

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie. He turned and, seeing the dark-haired man in the doorway, nearly dropped the book he was holding. “Rob? What are you doing here? Don’t tell me they’ve stuck you with this detail!” 

“Hammy!” Captain Robert Troup stepped forward and threw his arms around Alex. They thumped each other’s backs with enthusiasm for a moment, until Rob broke the embrace and stepped back to give his friend a better look. “Oh, so you _did_ change it,” he said, tapping the name tape on Alex’s chest. “Saw that on the PRL and thought it might be you. Must be itching to pin on that second bar, amirite?”

Alex shrugged noncommittally and sank down onto the edge of the bunk. “To be honest, I don’t care about rank anymore. They can bust me back to Private and ship me to Antarctica if they want, so long as it isn’t Afghanistan.”

Rob looked down at his friend, then groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ham— _Alex_ —you’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing again?”

“The ‘I hate everything’ thing. Don’t go there, man. It’s been a rough deployment, I know—“

“You ‘know’?” Alex sprang to his feet once more, the tension in his body coiled and ready to fight. “What do you ‘know,’ Rob? Besides how to justify every terrible policy decision that comes out of the Pentagon?” 

“Hey, that is _not_ fair—!” Rob’s dark eyes narrowed, his square jaw thrust forward. With his hangdog looks and permanent five o’clock shadow, he had the appearance of a cheerless bulldog.

Alex, meanwhile, had begun to pace the small, sparse room like a caged lion. “Our own allies distrusted me from day one. I have been reduced to a desk jockey in a war zone, pushing papers and groveling. I spent months trying to convince these people to listen to me, but by then it was too late and we were all picking shrapnel out of our—”

Troup stood almost a head taller, but felt as though he were cowering under Alex’s intense glare. Two-and-a-half years they’d shared a cheap studio apartment—450 square feet on West 112th Street, the only place they’d been able to afford on short notice—and for two-and-a-quarter, the only thing Rob had feared was Alex’s temper turning on him.

Alex, for his part, never seemed to show fear of anything at all. 

There were times Rob found it difficult to reconcile the officer before him with the scrawny, pale teenager he’d first met at Columbia. Four years of PT and regular meals had brought a strength and sinuousness to Alex’s body. Two years in the Afghani sun had freckled his face and picked out copper highlights in his hair. The second Alex opened his mouth, however, Rob was transported back to his sophomore year, watching a red-faced freshman bound onto a platform during a student protest, wresting the megaphone away from an organizer and holding the crowd spellbound for more than half an hour before anyone thought to ask who he was.

“—the entire operation was ill-conceived from the beginning, but to allow th—”

“Hey, hey, now _listen_ .” He grabbed Alex by the shoulders and held him in place. “ _None_ of that was on you and our people know that. The General got the whole report from O’Hara. It was a shit show, but it’s over now. You asked why I’m here? I volunteered to come get you. Hell, I had to _pull rank_ to do it. Now pull your shit together. You and I are flying up to Bagram, and then we’re sending you home.”

“You can put them over there, and be careful, _please,_ ” a resonant voice told the two Privates carrying the first of three distressed military trunks into the general purpose tent that had been assigned to General Greene and his staff. His aide-de-camp, 2nd Lieutenant John Laurens, gestured to the far side of the tent with his left hand and strode to the first trunk they brought in, unlocking it to check its contents and running his fingertips over the pieces of equipment deeply set in rigid foam. When the last trunk had been brought in, both men saluted, and Laurens thanked them, nodding their dismissal. 

Laurens wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, and cursed the heat of Afghanistan under his breath. Although he’d grown up in the South, he never did acclimate to the extreme heat of the region, or the absence of the streams and narrow rivers he’d grown up around to cool off in. To add insult to injury, the humidity made his shoulder throb and stiffen. Reflexively, his hand flew to his right shoulder, the arm secured in a black sling snug against his body, creating yet another place to sweat under the length of his arm. He flexed his fingers and resumed his task of taking inventory of the trunks' contents.

‘ _Everybody loses something when they move_ ,’ his mother had told him when they moved into their renovated house at Mepkin when John was just thirteen. Perhaps it was his tender age, or that a pair of sterling silver candlesticks were, in fact, lost in that move, but John never forgot the bit of wisdom imparted by his beloved mother, and each time he’d moved with the Army, he’d paid extra attention to every laptop, hard drive, map, field phone, and tactical binder he was in charge of, keeping detailed manifests, his mother’s sing-song voice echoing in his ears. To date, he hadn’t lost an item, and he smiled as he credited her for the success each time he watched a Private run around trying to locate some missing or misplaced item. He smiled and closed the last trunk just as General Greene himself walked in. 

General Greene was a proud Rhode Islander; 6 foot 4 to Laurens’ 6 foot 3, and what you would call sturdily built. To anyone in his path, he was intimidating. He knew it, and Laurens enjoyed it.

Laurens’ good hand snapped to a formal salute, and he was greeted with a nod and a familiar smile. “At ease, Laurens. Nothing missing, nothing damaged?” he asked, looking up from the Toughbook that was booting up at his desk.

Laurens’ hands went behind his back, fingers together, pointed towards the floor, and he stood up a fraction taller; muscle memory from years of drills and service in the US and abroad. “Affirmative, sir.” 

Greene chuckled at his formality and waved a dismissive hand. “Relax, John.” He removed his field hat, ran his fingers over the same buzzed sandy blonde hair John wore, the expression on his kind face relaxed, and sat down at the desk that was positioned along the back wall of the tent, John’s own desk perpendicular to the General’s. “Get yourself to the mess tent and eat before we get to all this,” he said, flicking a hand towards the row of trunks. “I ate on the plane, but I noticed you didn’t, and check in with your family, let them know you’re one flight closer to home.” He smiled affably at the golden-skinned Southerner and added, “That’s an order,” when Laurens didn’t move quick enough. 

“Thank you, sir, I won’t be long, I’d like to get started on the transition materials right away.” 

“As do I, now go. Eat.” John saluted again, spun on the heel of his boot and walked through the flaps of the tent as Greene called out after him, “And hydrate, Lieutenant!” 

John laughed and called back, “I will,” then went off to find food, noting a communications tent on the way. He needed to check in with everyone. He had extended family in London to call, and it had been over a week since he’d been in touch with his family back in Charleston. He knew his youngest sister, Mary Eleanor, would worry more than the others.

On the way to the chow hall, he spotted Charles L’Enfant, a friend from Charleston who had joined the Army out of college, same as John. Charles was a surveyor with the Army and had his head down looking over a map with a handful of other officers, making saying goodbye something that he’d have to put off. Inside the structure where meals were served, John found himself a wrap and two bottles of water that were already sweating, and an empty seat at a table with some of the men he’d flown in with earlier in the day. John opened what was labeled as a Southwestern wrap and took a big bite from the corner while the conversation around him focused on a big college football game bets were being placed on.

It was lunchtime by the time Rob and Alex arrived at Bagram Air Base. Alex trotted along beside Troup, his spirits rising with each step. _This is happening_ , repeated his mind like a mantra, _it’s finally happening._ When he’d taken a position with the NATO forces, the two-year assignment hardly seemed like a long time; now that he was on the other side of it, it felt as though it had been an eternity. 

“My unit was largely British, so it was the little things that stood out,” he said, holding up a steady stream of conversation even as he rushed to keep pace with Robert’s long strides. “Tea breaks, unfathomable idiomatic expressions, tubs of Marmite with every care package. I tell you, it’s quite disconcerting to be on the opposite side of the globe, surrounded by things that are _almost_ familiar, but ever-so-slightly off.” 

“‘I say, good chap!’” Rob held the flap of the mess tent open for Alex. “Speaking about things that are slightly off, nice accent you picked up down there.”

“Blimey, I ‘adn’t noticed,” Alex deadpanned. They reached the chow line, where Rob began to load up his tray. Too full of energy and anticipation to eat, Alex grabbed himself the largest cup of coffee he could find instead. Rob stared at him.

“What, you not have actual food anymore?”

Alex took a bottle of water, which he tucked under his arm, then selected a single orange. He stared down his old roommate, giving the fruit an emphatic toss in the air. Rob heaved a long-suffering sigh and went to find a seat, Alex following a step or two behind. They took the last two chairs at the end of a crowded table. Most of the group appeared to be having an avid discussion about football; only one, a blondish man sitting nearby, even glanced their way, his clear, blue eyes open and inviting.

Troup sat by the burly blond, pulling his chair over to give him his space. Alex dropped the orange and water on the table and flung himself in the chair opposite him. Leaning back, he took a long pull of his coffee. His eyes fluttered closed. “Good lord,” he moaned. “It’s every bit as terrible as I remember.”

“C’mon, they must have had coffee,” Rob said through a mouthful of cheeseburger.

“Yes, but compared to this, theirs was _good_ .” Alex sat back up again, grabbed a handful of fries off his friend’s plate and chewed thoughtfully for a moment as he looked around, listening to American voices burble and swirl about him. He felt practically giddy— _this time tomorrow, I’ll be on American soil!_ It was all he could do to keep from leaping onto the table or bursting into song. Instead, he helped himself to a few more fries. Damn, they tasted good; there was something intensely satisfying about the heat and salt on his tongue.

Alex was suddenly aware of two things. First, that he was in fact ravenously hungry, and second, that someone’s attention was on him.

Laurens was demolishing the second half of his wrap with large bites, attempting to argue the admittedly limited strengths of USC’s offense, when two officers entered the chow hall and walked straight to the end of the food line. He gave the man with dark hair only a passing glance, uninteresting as he was, but the red-haired Lieutenant with sculpted cheekbones and a freckled tan held his attention longer than he should have. He swallowed hard; too hard, so he had to pound his chest with his fist to keep from choking. A quick count of empty seats meant both men would end up at his table, so he pulled out the empty chair next to him hospitably out of habit. His mother would be proud he hadn’t left his manners in Charleston. 

He kept an ear on the conversation to his right in case he was called on to defend his alma mater again and permitted himself a careless moment to eye the redhead. His frame was leaner than most men, with hair that was sandy like his own closer to the scalp, and redder on the ends where it had begun to grow out. John liked the subtle freckles on his sun-kissed skin. _Hard to be pale here_ , John mused to himself, and popped the last of his wrap into his mouth, drowning it with the last two sips of water in his bottle. Before he could glean anything more interesting, his attention was drawn back to the rest of the table, when a Private unapologetically told John, “Hey, _your_ USC is a mediocre school, so at least no one _expects_ them to have a stellar team.”

“Watch it,” John cautioned sternly, a reminder that Southerners were fiercely protective of all things Southern, even when it lacked reason to be so. 

The chair next to him dragged across the floor, and Laurens turned his head to find both officers finding their seats, the taller man setting his full tray on the table before he took the vacant seat to his left. Laurens nodded politely and watched the uninvited object of his attention to take the seat opposite himself. Absent the ever-present sun of Afghanistan, John presumed he would be pale. _Scottish, perhaps? Maybe Irish,_ he considered. He had light freckles on his cheeks that spread across the bridge of his nose that John’s eyes lingered on. Simpson, the man seated to his right, bumped his shoulder gesturing animatedly just then and Laurens winced, gripping his shoulder with his free hand. “Shit, watch it!” he snapped, his face pulled into a grimace, to which Simpson immediately apologized, patted the top of Laurens’ arm, and inched his chair further away hoping to avoid a repeat incident. Annoyed with the men to his right, John turned to smile at the man seated next to him and awkwardly extended his free hand. “Lieutenant Laurens,” he offered, the wince fading into a relaxed smile.

Rob took the man’s proffered hand. “Robert Troup. You can call me ‘Captain.’” 

“ _Rob_ .” Alex gave a snort of disgust and winged his orange at Troup’s stubbly face. “Has anyone told you you’ve become insufferable?” Rob caught the fruit and flung it back across the table. Alex deftly plucked it from the air with one hand and leapt to his feet, dropping the orange back on the table to reach a free hand across. “Lieutenant Alexander Faucette.” He pronounced the last name with a French gloss, the emphasis on the second syllable just as his mother would have done. Even now, nearly 15 years later, her loss was still a shooting pain in his heart. It also took a second to register that he’d given his rank as ‘leftenant.’ _Dammit_. “Alex,” he added, giving Laurens’ hand a firm shake. “Anything more than name, rank, and serial number will cost you.” He noted the strength in the man’s grip, no surprise given the look of him. The ideal All-American, with eyes the color of faded denim and white teeth gleaming against a tanned face. Although his body was obscured by his uniform, the outlines of his muscles were faintly visible; Alex found himself picturing how the man would look shirtless, a sheen of sweat on his bare skin—

Alex snapped his attention back to the present, taking his seat once more. He picked up the orange and began peeling it, forcing himself to work the skin free slowly and methodically in one long strip. Were his hands beginning to shake? _Too much caffeine and excitement on too few calories_ , he told himself, _that’s all_. “Just finished serving two years with the NATO forces, ready to head back stateside. You?”

John gave Captain Troup an appropriate nod, and looked across the distressed table to the man across from him, now on his feet offering his own hand. He took it, shook it firmly, and renewed his smile, his index finger twitching against his palm as it slipped through his own. "John Laurens. I've been assigned to General Greene for the last two years, so I go where he goes, but this is my last stop; I’m flying out on Saturday." He smiled wide, so the corners of his eyes crinkled, and wiped his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, "Damn it feels good to say that!" he exclaimed, to which the rest of the table whistled and cheered enthusiastically.

The warm, elated feeling that had been spreading through Alexander’s chest had now plunged into his stomach. At the word ‘home,’ though, he couldn’t help but grin back. “It does, doesn’t it?” Absently, he tossed the orange peel onto Robert’s near-empty plate and relieved him of the last of his fries. “So tell me: where is home, and what’s the first thing you’re planning to do when you get there?” 

Laurens blinked. The last location he had a residence was London, but it wasn’t _home._ “Charleston, South Carolina,” he answered, running his long fingers over his closely shorn blond hair, running through the checklist he’d accumulated since he’d been given his travel orders. “First, I need Charleston’s air in my lungs, her food in my belly, and a cold glass of sweet tea,” he replied cheerfully, reaching his good arm out to meet the high fives from Warner, seated to his right, and Wagner, to Faucette’s left. John had all but forgotten the Captain seated to his left, his attention claimed by Alex as he lobbed the question back across the table, “And you? Where’re you from?”

“Well, as much as I’m from anywhere… Manhattan. The greatest island on Earth.” Alex leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, tapping an idle finger against his jaw as he watched Laurens unconsciously shift his injured shoulder. “And when I get back, I want to do _everything_ .” He glanced away as his thoughts turned inward, letting out a light laugh, buoyant and wistful all at once; when his attention returned to Laurens’ face, he held his gaze. “I want to lay in the grass in Central Park. I want to wander the Met, to walk among the tourists in Times Square and see them gawk at the sights. I want to find the place in Chinatown with the really good tea, and grab a dance outside Lincoln Center. I want to watch a game at the Garden _and_ a play off-Broadway. I want to go to Dominique Ansel’s, buy an armload of pastries, and take them to Battery Park to watch the sun set over Governor’s Island—”

“Ah, _shit_.” Rob stood abruptly, causing Alex to jump, before he kicked his chair in and started gathering up his tray. “If someone has to come and drag your ass out of The Strand again, remember to have them call Fish this time. It’s his turn.”

Alex could feel his cheeks start to burn. “There were… just so many books…” he managed. He cleared his throat and shrugged at Laurens. “In a city that never sleeps, the bookstore closes at 10:30. Go figure.”

Rob shook his head, snickering to himself as he leaned over the table to slap Alex on the shoulder. “I gotta get back to work. Good to see you again, Ham.” He waved a hand over his shoulder as he walked off. “Catch you before you leave!”

While Alex jumped when Troup abruptly stood up, John didn’t flinch; his eyes trained on Faucette. _Alex_ . He waited for the Captain to complete his exit from the chow hall before resting his left hand on the table in front of him, and extended the conversion. “I’ve never been to New York. New Yorkers always talk about it with the same reverence, for a city that awes as much as it seems to irritate them.” His eyes trailed down the slope of Alex’s neck before he caught himself and glanced down, peeling the label from his empty water bottle; a necessary distraction. “You have family waiting for you there? Wife? Girlfriend?” _Why would you ask that?_

Such an innocuous query, yet it hit with an impact. Again, Alex felt that pang in his chest, as if the loss of his family were a limb that would forever ache. How could he explain to the striking soldier before him what it felt like to be a stranger wherever he went, to be rootless, without connections? The few blood relations he had remaining were scattered or lost; the only bonds left were to his friends and his country, and even those had been sorely tested by circumstance. 

He took a few seconds to contemplate the question while Laurens’ attention remained focused on the bottle in his hands. Thoughts snaked through Alex’s brain, connecting in a tangled web of analysis. Though they’d traded only a few words so far, there was cleverness behind those stunning eyes. The mention of women was meant to seem off-the-cuff, but unless Alex was mistaken—which he rarely was—there was a deeper, yearning subtext there.

...But then came the nagging doubt, that cold kernel of insecurity tucked deep in his mind. He’d never been immune to the charms of women (nor they to his, at least in the short-term, much to his friends’ evident annoyance), but the attraction of men was a… murkier subject. It was a door he’d purposely left open but never stepped through. _Except once…_ The physical symptoms, however—tightness in his chest, a quiver low in his belly, his pulse quickening when the Lieutenant’s eyes flicked his way—were unmistakable.

To all outside appearances, Alex watched John scrape at the damp label for a few seconds. Quietly, he answered, “No. No one at all.”

John’s eyes widened, pushing his eyebrows upward into an expression of surprise, while he stole a moment to reassess the Lieutenant across from him. Anyone could see he was handsome, with a chiseled jaw and freckles that speckled under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. John didn’t have _much_ experience with redheads, but enough to imagine they would blanket the top of his bare shoulders as well. He was Army, so obviously in good shape, as much as he could tell with a uniform anyway. 

John shook the empty bottle of water back and forth wishing he had another handy, and gazed across the table that was now just the two of them. _When did everyone else leave? Did they say goodbye, and I ignored them?_

“Well, your country eagerly awaits your return, Lieutenant.” John forced himself to look away from Alex’s shoulders, and found his eyes again. “So what do you do in New York, aside from drinking good tea and eating pastries in the park?"

They sat in taut silence for a moment. A small, sly smile played about Alex’s lips, and when he spoke again, his voice remained soft. “When I was last there, I was doing my undergrad, so you might say what I’ve _done_ isn’t nearly as important as what I’m _going_ to do.” Sensing a kindred spirit, he looked about, checked that there was no one nearby, then leaned closer to John. “As for _that_ , I’m sure you’ll ask, so I’ll save you the effort. When I get back stateside, I’m through with the Army—or at least active duty.” He searched John’s face for a reaction, but the man gave nothing away.

Alex continued nevertheless. “I’ve given the military a solid four years of my life. Four years active duty for a four year degree, that feels only fair to me. I’d intended to serve all eight, maybe make a career of it, but after this tour, I cannot justify continuing.”

Having now built up a head of steam, Alex plunged ahead without stopping to consider that he was speaking to a stranger. “Think for a moment about _why_ you joined. Me, I wanted to make my mark on the world, to do something to leave it a better place. The things that have happened here, the things I’ve seen and done… they aren’t doing that, that’s for damn sure.”

Alex paused, suddenly aware of having said too much. He looked down at his hands, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table.

“The catch is,” he continued, “I’m planning to go to law school. I believe I can make a difference that way, but… I was going to go through the Funded Legal Education Program for my law degree. If I do that, then I have an obligation to the JAG corps. And… I don’t know if I have that in me anymore.” He shook his head, eyes drifting back up to the other officer’s attentive face. “I’ve set aside enough money to get by for at least a year; there are always scholarships and loans to help with tuition. In the meantime,” he shrugged, “I’m lining up a sublet in Harlem and I’m sure I’ll figure it all out somehow.”

John had subconsciously leaned forward while Alex spoke. Probably when he said he was done with active duty, something John himself could never say. He would be happy to do another tour, but he had people who needed him, new responsibilities, and he was genuinely needed back in Charleston. 

John blew out his breath and ran his thumb across his bottom lip, his eyes focused on Alex’s mouth. When he looked up again, he smiled warmly, and drew in a breath before stretching his flattened palm across the table towards Alex. “We all think we’re going to save the world when we sign up, don’t we? I _know_ I’ve made a difference here, and I’m willing to wager my salary that you have as well. But if you can do _more_ somewhere else, or take a job that’s more fulfilling for _you_ ,” he said, lowering his voice, and leaning closer, “then you don’t owe the Army anything.” His lip curled up on one side into a smile and he leaned back in his chair, cradling his arm that began to ache as the humidity climbed. “So, back to law school then, it sounds like?”

It was the most John had spoken yet. Alex noted the genteel Southern drawl; it put him in mind of sweet tea on verandas and Spanish moss dripping from tree boughs. Beneath his words, there was an undercurrent of something Alex couldn’t quite put his finger on. _What is he_ not _saying_? Almost without realizing, Alex had begun to slide his hand forward across the table to meet Laurens’. Their fingers brushed together. The sensation sent a jolt, like electricity, up his arm. He froze, eyes widening first in surprise and then with an inexpressible longing for more.

Laurens leaned back, rubbing his arm as he continued to speak congenially, his soft, full lips quirked into a smile. Alex’s answering grin was all but feral.

His mind, used to multi-tasking, carried the conversation onward. “Back to _school,_ that’s for sure. I still need to get into law school—not that I think it’ll be an issue for me—but there are still LSATs to take and applications to turn in. All the legwork, you know how it is.”

He paused. Something tugged at the back of his head, bringing the near-empty room back into sharp relief. Alex sat up, alert, and turned just as Robert Troup came back into the mess, dark eyebrows knitted.

“Bad news, man,” he said, waving a manila envelope. “Transport’s been cancelled; it’s now cargo-only. I’ve got—”

“ _WHAT?!_ ” Alex roared, leaping to his feet. He stalked up to Rob and ripped the envelope out of his hand. “ _Sons of_ …”

“Info’s all there. Arrangements for the next flight out, a spot in the barracks… should be everything you need. Go get whatever gear you need—” 

His last words were cut off by an untamed snarl as Alex kicked a chair. It landed in a tangle a few yards away. “This is REPREHENSIBLE! Of all the degrading, _disgraceful_ …” He let out another howl of anger. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised. It’s the Army, Alexander! Of COURSE it’s got you by the short hairs!” He slammed a table for emphasis and started for the exit. Halfway there, he stopped short and turned back to where Robert stood before Laurens. “I need to go take care of this! I’ll… I’ll find you later.” And with that, he spun on his heel and stormed out. Troup heard a distinct “SONS OF BITCHES!” come from somewhere outside.

Rob turned to Laurens. “I’d like a word, Lieutenant.” He rested his hands on the table across from him, and leaned in, not so close as to be threatening, but enough to show he was serious.

“Listen,” he said, his North Jersey accent thickening. “I just want you to know, that kid has been through Hell and back again, and I don’t just mean this past tour. I have had to piece him back together more times than I can count, and I’ve watched broken hearts pile up over three boroughs. He’s got somethin’ special, and I love him like he’s my own little brother… but I hope to God you can handle yourself as well as I think, or else he’s gonna wring you dry and you’ll need a whole squad of guys like me in your corner.”

Rob straightened and turned to go. He might never be as eloquent as Alex, but he could deliver an effective message in his own way. Despite his gruff demeanor, Rob was a marshmallow through and through. This young officer seemed like a good guy; he’d hate to see either of them get hurt.

“One last thing, because I knew he’d forget.” He fished a scrap of paper out of his pocket and dropped it on the table in front of John. On it, he’d written Alex’s contact information: cell phone number, personal email, and his quarters on base. “He’d want you to have this.”

John’s personal survival instincts kicked in, and though he crumpled up and tucked the scrap of paper under the flap on his jacket, he stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with the backs of his legs. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Captain. It was a pleasure meeting you both.” He saluted the senior officer and, with a tight smile, left the hall without pushing the chair back in.

Outside, he slipped his Ray Bans over his eyes, and kept his head down, walking briskly past the communications tent where he’d intended to make a long overdue call home, and chided himself for continuing to put it off. 

He kept walking until he was back at Greene’s tent. The General was away, the space empty, and John sat at his desk and attempted to sort through the details for a liaison who would be visiting the day after he flew home, but the focus he needed to be productive eluded him. Captain Troup’s parting words were eating John’s lunch and fraying his nerves. _I’ve been so careful!_ he told himself.

Sometime later, Alex was seated on the edge of what passed for a bed in his temporary quarters, leg jiggling in pent-up infuriation. He’d managed to retrieve some of his personal effects, enough to get by for the day or two he’d be stuck in Bagram while waiting for the next transport home. He pulled out his phone to text Herc not to come pick him up the next day and saw that there was no connection. He tossed the phone beside him on the bed and wiped away a tear of frustration. He wasn’t sure which was worse: being stuck in Afghanistan for another 24-48 hours, or discovering that this base was as bad off as the one in Kandahar.

He took a few deep breaths and began to regroup. First order of business: getting in touch with the few people back home who were expecting him. Second, thank Rob for handling logistics—

 _Merde!_ In the excitement, he’d overlooked not only all of what Robert had done for him, but he’d completely forgotten to say good-bye to Lt. Laurens. 

_John_. 

Thinking of him began to lift Alex out of his funk somewhat, at least until he began to replay their conversation in his head. _Would it have killed you, Alexander, to ask the man about himself_ ? He felt a sudden, forceful need to find him, to… what, apologize? _Well, perhaps that’s in order._ Then, with luck, he could continue their conversation, to ask all of the questions he should have asked when they were sitting eye-to-eye…

He thought of John’s clear blue eyes, his robust frame and gentle countenance. Yes, Alex had a lot of questions he wanted to ask…

But first, he needed to find him. _Think, Alexander. You know he’s on General Greene’s staff…_

And with that, he was out the door. Everything else, he could work out along the way.

General Nathanael Greene had briefings lined up for most of the evening that Laurens was excused from, leaving him to toil away at the carefully organized piles on both desks until the sun began to set and the temperature had dipped slightly. Laurens got up to stretch his legs and remove his sling, laying it on a trunk so his arm could move freely. He rolled his shoulder several times forward, then backward. The movement wasn’t without discomfort, but it also felt _good_ to move the joint. He heard a female voice giving out instructions to Greene’s tent and turned to look over his shoulder at the entrance expectantly, reversing the direction of his shoulder rolls again.

Laurens saw the dark clothing and tactical gear before he saw the face, and he groaned so low, it echoed like a growl in the General Purpose tent. 

Frank Kinloch stepped through the doors, always open and secured so as to invite visitors. Laurens didn’t like them being left open, but Greene wanted the men and women under his command to know they had his ear. Frank took two steps inside and stopped, grinning obnoxiously, a bottle of Snapple peach iced tea in his hand. He pitched his head forward slightly, and in a castigating tone, greeted the Lieutenant and aide.

“John,” he said as he handed the bottle to Laurens, who leaned forward, rather than move closer to accept the cold beverage, immediately stepping back on his right foot. The glass bottle was cold in his hand, and he was thirsty. Laurens often forgot to drink water when he was working, which was why Greene had told him to hydrate on his way to lunch.

“Greene’s meeting with Lincoln,” he told him. “You can come back tomorrow, or leave a message, if you prefer.” His tone wasn’t altogether unfriendly, but it was formal and unnecessary, since the two men had known each other since middle school.

Frank was nearly as tall as John, handsome, Ivy League-educated, and came from the same social circles John had been raised in. He took a step towards John, his eye catching sight of the sling on the trunk, and he reached out to touch the arm that John clearly favored. “I saw your name on an infirmary report, and I wanted to see you.” Frank had lowered his voice, and the familiarity and concern were plain. “What happened? Are you alright? I read the report, but I wanted to hear it from you.” Laurens didn’t bother to ask him how he, a private military contractor, had managed to read the classified report he referred to.

John twisted the cap off of the bottle and took a long drink. It was awful, but it was sweet, and it was cold. _What I wouldn’t give for Melvin’s sweet tea and cornbread right now._

“What always happens here?” John answered. “We were out doing recon, came upon a broken down truck that turned out to be an ambush, and I was shot.” He shrugged dismissively and pulled large mouthfuls of the cold drink, tipping the bottle in Frank’s direction as a thank you.

Frank took a half step closer that John didn’t fail to notice and brazenly let his wrist rest on his shoulder. “Report _I_ read says you managed to help provide cover, got your team back in the Humvee, and drove everyone to safety with a GSW, without losing a single man. The insurgents, on the other hand, suffered several casualties. At least… according to the report _I_ read.” His face softened, and he eliminated the last few inches of empty space between them to press his forehead to John’s chest and sigh. “Jack,” he whispered. “I was sick with worry when I saw your name as WIA.” John’s upper body tightened, from his hips, through his core, and up to his neck. It was a long moment before he moved backwards, a flash of offence crossing Frank’s face when he did. 

“I’m sorry I missed your visits,” he spat, betraying more emotion than he wanted Frank to hear.

Frank’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled, but he let John take the space for himself without protest. “Jack, how would it have looked if I had? You’re Army, I’m private, I didn’t want—” His sentence was cut off by John spinning on the heel of his boots, glaring dramatically. 

“We’ve known each other forever, _Fran-cis_ ,” he sniped, using his Christian name to remind him how long, and how well, they knew each other. “You didn’t have to explain anything. I didn’t want you to visit, but don’t use _that_ as an excuse for why you didn’t.”

There was a long pause before Frank took three quick strides to stand in front of John again, his hands on the edge of the desk on either side of John’s hips. Laurens was now pinned between the desk, and his ex.

“I know you’re going back soon,” he said low, “but I had to see you.” His hand came up to caress the side of John’s neck, and he brushed his nose along his cheek, inhaling John’s warm, familiar scent. Aftershave and cologne were impractical here, so John smelled of sweat, antiperspirant, and just-John. “I miss you, where are your quarters?” he whispered, in a voice Frank reserved for when he was alone with John. He moved to brush his lips against John’s, but before he could, John deployed both palms to Frank’s chest, in order to push him back gently. “Not this time,” he said firmly. As he did, he caught sight of someone else entering the tent and dropped his hands, righting himself so Frank had to take a step back.

Finding his way through Bagram Airfield gave Alex plenty of time to think, though less of it was about the enigmatic blond Lieutenant than he’d liked. _How can it be_ , he thought to himself, _that a base this size can have a Pizza Hut, yet personnel are still in temporary housing after all this time_ _?_ The quarters assigned to him had been rudimentary—the walls appeared to be quite literally plywood—but they were at least inside a building. He came to a small tent city where he’d been told to find Greene’s headquarters, and it made him want to rage all over again. _Just when I think nothing can surprise me, Army bureaucracy finds a new low to which it can sink._ He stopped a young private and asked her to point the way to Greene’s office, such as it was.

“I just came from there,” she told him after pointing it out. “His aide was still in when I left. Maybe he can help you?”

 _Jackpot!_ Alex thanked her and quickened his pace as he headed to the indicated tent. He paused only long enough to take a deep breath and compose his thoughts. _I’m aware that we’ve only just met_ , he recited in his head as he put his hand on the flap, _but I would very much like to know_...

“Not this time,” came a voice from inside.

Alex was through the entrance before the voice had registered as John’s. Inside, he found John holding a civvy—worse, a _contractor—_ emphatically at arm’s length. He looked up and pulled his hands away as Alex entered the tent, but the stricken expression on his face remained.

Alex shifted automatically into professional mode. “Lieutenant!” he said, his back snapping straight, before turning his attention to the pointy-faced man next to him.

Frank moved his eyes from John’s face to the intruder slowly, and made no attempt to hide his disappointment in the interruption. He sighed quietly, and dropped his hands to his hips; in resignation or defiance, John wasn’t sure. 

“Faucette!” John exclaimed, acknowledging his presence with the French accent that came easily to him, as he stepped around Frank. “Good, we can get started.” He motioned for the man to step in further, eyes fixed on his, imploring him to play along. “Mr. Kinloch and I are finished,” he told him emphatically. 

John had carefully chosen his words for Frank’s benefit, and when he hazarded a glance over his shoulder in his direction, he found frustration in Frank’s eyes. John had underestimated his one-time lover, though, who arrogantly stepped around John to face him, presenting the back of his tac vest to Alex, and ran his palm flat over John’s chest pocket where Alex’s contact info was tucked away. 

“Jack, anything you need or I can do for you, let me know. Same goes for your… ” 

“Thanks, I’m good,” John interrupted, his arm brushing Alex’s when he moved around him towards the exit, encouraging Frank’s departure.

Tipped off that John was hiding something from this _Faucette_ , Frank now took a good look at Alex, sizing him up from his hair to his worn boots. He dismissed him with a mocking snort, and marched through the door without another word. John undid the ties that held the flaps open and let them fall the moment he was gone. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he said quietly.

“He seems delightful,” said Alex, his tone flat as his eyes searched John’s face. “A shame he couldn’t stay.” He could feel his lip beginning to curl into a snarl and forced himself to turn away, stepping past John and further into the tent. “Who _was_ he, a friend of yours? Or do we have a lab missing a rat?”

“Private military contractor,” John answered honestly. In the interest of transparency he added, “and… an ex, so to speak. Fate decided to fuck me over again and sent him here.”

“Fate. She’s such a fickle…” Alex shook his head, then began to look about, taking in the makeshift office. “Quick thinking, though. I was prepared to deliver an imaginary summons from Greene.” He turned back to John, and, noticing how he now held his injured arm, sprang for the sling and brought it over, beginning to re-fix it about the limb.

John mumbled, “Thanks,” and, deciding to cooperate with the well-meaning man, moved his arm to help him while he cautiously secured his arm and fastened the black sling. 

“Was it that obvious I needed backup?” he asked, eyes on the floor. When Alex reached around him John felt his chest against his, and he held his breath. He’d gone too long without a man in his bed, and Afghanistan wasn’t exactly a hot spot on Grindr. 

“I don’t imagine you as the sort who requires a lot of backup,” Alex fought to keep his tone light as he finished smoothing the sling into place. It was an intimate, surprisingly tender gesture, and as he straightened up, found himself cradled in John’s arms. He could feel his heart thud against the inside of his rib cage but did not pull away from the embrace.

Slowly, he brought his hands up and rested them against John’s chest. “I—” His voice faltered. He took a sharp intake of air and began again.

“I wanted to apologize for our conversation earlier.” Hang on—no, what had he come up with? This close to John, feeling the warmth coming off his body, it was difficult to think. “Or rather, erm, for ending it the way that I did.” He flicked his eyes up to the other man’s face, then returned to where his hands touched the fabric of his uniform. _Easier not to make eye contact just yet._

“I was hoping we could... or rather, that you would agree to join me, and um, find somewhere we could... continue. Conversing, that is.” He swallowed, hard. He was making a hash of this and he knew it. What happened to the self-confident, smooth-talking Alex who’d arrived here this morning? _If this was a woman_ , a thought began, but was squelched before it could finish forming.

He lifted his chin again for the last bit of his speech, although his eyes rose no higher than Laurens’ jaw. “Before that, there’s something I need to know...” The words began to pick up speed, tumbling out of his mouth in a force he couldn’t control. “I’m going to ask you something and if the answer is ‘no,’ then I understand completely and we will walk away from this, no hard feelings, no more questions asked, but I just wanted to make sure I’m not reading this the wrong way…”

 _Oh, no_ , went a tiny, observant part of Alex’s brain, the one that recorded his worst moments for later playback. This one small part of him recognized, with growing horror, that his runaway mouth was about to give him fodder for a year’s worth of sleepless nights.

“Would you allow me to kiss you?”

John’s hand had found Alex’s waist while his hands were smoothing over his sling, but he took an immediate, reflexive step back at this unexpected request. _Is he hitting on me?_ John wondered, in utter surprise.

“ _What?_ ” he asked, his outraged reaction disproportionate to what he felt. “Why would you ask me that? What happens if I say no, you walk away?” 

He didn’t know why he sounded so angry, when all John was thinking was that in his final hours of active service, he’d somehow outed himself. And he was furious with _himself_ for letting his guard down.

A battle was beginning to rage within Alex. John’s touch sent a thrill through his body, shooting from his chest down deep into his groin. He longed to give in to sensations and desire, to feel warm skin against his. 

His brain, unfortunately, was a worthy adversary, and right now it was screaming at him. He could feel his face flush as he battled against his natural reaction to being caught in an error, which was to get defensive and fight like a cornered badger.

“NO!” The word nearly exploded from him, coming out somewhere between a yelp and a screech. He cringed at the sound. He wanted to run away and bury his face and possibly his entire body—preferably somewhere very far away and six feet beneath the ground—but John still had his eyes on him and Alex’s feet were pinned to the spot.

“I mean, _yes_ , if you wanted me to—I’d _never_ —it wasn’t meant to be an ultimatum—!” He stopped himself and leaned away to better look John in the face, eyes narrowed in concentration. “I needed to know that I had the correct… _impression_ of the situation. If I happen to be _wrong_ —” at that, his arm jerked, almost of its own accord, his hand brushing against John’s thigh, “—then I’ve given us an ‘out’ for an awkward situation. And if I’m right, _which I’m getting the sense I am_ , then…” his voice trailed off as he cocked his head to one side in genuine confusion. “I guess, in that case… I don’t really understand why there would be an objection?”

Distracted, John admired Alex’s lips and licked his own before he could stop himself. He carefully counted out three breaths, forcing a pause. _Privacy_ , he decided, was an immediate necessity. 

“You said something about going somewhere we could continue?” he asked, leaning into a step back. “I don’t want to do this here.”

Relief washed over Alex. Relief, elation, a shiver of anticipation... and a sudden sense of hilarity as the tension was broken. He tried to force down a giggle, stuffing a knuckle into his mouth when he utterly, utterly failed to do so. 

Finally, he turned away and buried his face in his hands until he got it out of his system. “Yes, yes, I did. My apologies, I—you wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve busted people for ‘fraternizing’ in the office.” He shook his head, stood up straight, and wiped an eye with the heel of his hand. “I never expected to be on this side of the situation.”

Then, with a tentative smile at John, he carefully reached out a hand until he felt John’s fingers against his, tightening his grip around them. “You know this base better than I do—any suggestions? I have my own quarters, but I’ll warn you, the walls are made of something barely qualifying as wood. Unless you _want_ to potentially scandalize the neighbors, that is...”

John allowed the contact, against his better judgement. The physical chemistry between them would be preposterous to deny, but he had very serious reservations. He found it difficult not to share Alex’s enthusiasm but he would never be free from the bounds placed on him and his life, and even now, with him so close, John felt those ties pulling him back to attention. 

“That won’t be necessary.” He let go of Alex’s hand and removed the sling that he’d just helped him with. “I want some fresh air,” he told Alex and took a few steps back to unbutton and remove his jacket, smoothing down the short, sweat-damp sleeves of his Army-issued taupe t-shirt. He took a deep breath and left his jacket on his chair before heading for the exit, his right arm grazing Alex’s waist on the way. “Just stay with me.” 

Once they were outside, John took in another deep breath as the cooler air filled his lungs and looked from left to right, trying to identify a suitable location. He decided on a closely set grouping of structures used to store goods: non-perishables, administrative supplies, communications not in use, and the commissary that would be closing for the night. The area would now be dimly lit, avoided by personnel, and would provide some cover for a conversation. 

John veered off to the left towards his destination in silence. He had questions for Alex, but they could wait, and the walk afforded John a minute to organize his scattered thoughts. He made a sharp right so they were dead center of a group of four buildings, where nearly all of the tall lights had been shut off to conserve energy. John stopped at what was as good a wall as any and walked Alex back until he was almost against it, hiding the two men in shadows.

“Alex…” he began, “I need to know about your history with men before this conversation goes any further. You met Frank. Frank is only interested in men when he’s here, and when he’s with me; a lesson I resisted learning that caused me a lot of grief and pain and I… as attracted to you as I am, I’m not putting myself in that position again.”

Alex stood motionless for a long moment, waiting for the roller coaster in his stomach to cease. It didn’t. He looked up at the taller man, admiring the way the distant lights illuminated his face and brought a golden sheen to his hair. He thought about how it had been to walk beside him through the crisp night air, how it felt as natural as if they’d been together their whole lives. Alex was not a large man, and aware of it; he’d often wondered how much of his hurried nature came from trying to keep up or ahead of those around him. John’s gentle, rolling gait allowed him to keep pace naturally. In his arms, there had been a sense of peace, of security, of… _rightness_.

But he heard his words, too, and they cut him to the heart. As much as it pained him to do so, he stepped back as far as he could. “Then I’d better go,” he told John, ducking under his arm and heading for the narrow alleyway. 

Several short steps were enough to jolt his brain back into gear. He’d just about reached the corner of the building when he whirled around and added, “...but first, I have a few things to say.” 

He jogged back towards the area where he’d left John. “To answer your question, I’ve only consciously allowed myself any sort of _intimacy_ with one other man before, and thanks to him, I almost died the next day. So, no, I don’t have a great track record as these things go.” He stopped a few feet away and planted his feet, hands on hips.

“This is all entirely new for me, territory I’ve never explored. This” —here he gestured a circle about them— “didn’t fit into the plan I have for my life. That plan has always included a wife. _Children_ .” He paused, closing his eyes long enough to take a gulp of air. “I _need_ to have a family. Because I am so very sick and tired of drifting through my life _alone_.”

He took another deep breath and sagged, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t even understand why I’m telling you all of this. As you said, we’ve known each other less than a day, and yet I trust you—I _want_ to trust you—” An unexpected lump was forming in his throat, making it hard to get words out. A slight breeze chilled his face; his cheeks were wet with tears he had no recollection of shedding. “That’s not something I’m able to do very easily.”

He turned as if to leave again, and pulled up the jacket of his BDU. He untucked his t-shirt, and exposed the right side of his back. The scattered shrapnel scars were mostly small, but for a large, hypertrophic patch over his right kidney. Twisting his neck, Alex glanced backward over his shoulder.

“ _This_ is what happened the last time I trusted someone.”

John tilted his head to one side to examine the fresh scars, and stepped forward. When he was within reach of his waist, he looked up, asking permission with compassionate eyes.

Alex watched John approach, saw the hesitant look on his face. He nodded his consent.

Concern furrowed John’s brow, before giving way to pain and anger as he lightly touched the scars on Alex’s back with his fingertips. His own scars paled in comparison. “Tell me,” he whispered, his lips close to Alex’s neck.

Alex released a breath slowly as he looked forward again, swaying slightly on his feet. John’s fingers were soft and pleasantly warm against his skin. “Some of this might be familiar if you followed what happened down in Kandahar.” Alex leaned into John, tentative at first, but more as he continued. He found the larger man’s presence comforting. Alex had been deprived so long of the fundamental need to be held, he’d forgotten the solace that it brought. 

“Integrating into the unit was... difficult, at best. A lot of the men, junior officers & enlisted men, didn’t love having an American around. Blaming us for the situation, for having to be back over here, the whole political mess. There was one person, an interpreter I worked with, who was a friend to me. An Algerian national, interpreter, Oxford-educated. I knew him as André Benyahya.” Alex closed his eyes, savoring the comfort of John’s body behind him, even as he recalled André’s face: the olive skin, black hair, soulful dark eyes peering from beneath thick brows.

“We became... close. Spent time together off-duty. The others would include us, but we were the outsiders, always. There was an attraction, I would say, but I never acted upon it. He encouraged me to vent my frustrations, was always supportive…

“One night, he came to me, clearly agitated. I invited him in. And… he kissed me.” Alex’s fingers closed around John’s hand. “I let him. After a while, he pulled away, apologized profusely, and left in a rush.

“The next morning… we were attacked. One of our men, Ben Arnold, had been ‘radicalized,’ as they put it. I knew something was wrong, acted out of instinct even before I noticed the vest. I was headed to alert someone, base security, I don’t know, but André was right there coming the other way—“

Alex broke off. It was becoming difficult to speak. “I dove to give him cover, right as Ben hit the trigger. I took a hunk of metal, lost half a kidney, and I saved his life.

“That’s how they were able to take him alive. He’d been an enemy agent the entire time—he realized he couldn’t turn me, so he targeted Arnold instead.”

John had read the official report of this attack when it landed on Greene’s desk, and had been impressed by the bravery of the officer who tried to thwart Arnold, but hadn’t committed a name to memory. Alex took his hand, but it was John who moved to wrap his arm around Alex’s waist, his left hand caressing the top of Alex’s arm. John sighed, his lips close to Alex’s neck and held his waist tighter. “I’m sorry,” he breathed out. “A bigger mess for you than it was for us. It sounds like we both have some trust issues.” Alex hadn’t responded to John physically the way he’d expected. He expected him to recoil at some point, to pull away, not lean into him and seek intimacy with him. Maybe he didn’t need to ask after all. He leaned his forehead against the back of Alex’s head and breathed in discreetly, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. No… he needed to hear it. He needed confirmation. 

“Alex… when I asked about your history with men, I didn’t mean to put you in a position where you felt you had to defend yourself. I apologize for how I came off.” With a gentle hand on his shoulder, he turned Alex so they were facing each other, Alex’s shirt falling to cover his scars once more. John wondered if Alex felt as vulnerable with his scars exposed as he did. “I won’t insult you by trying to deny the attraction I feel to you.” He smiled and cupped Alex’s cheek, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones and jaw with a feather-light touch.

“I’ve had my share of casual encounters, but never over here. To me, this feels like it might be more than an hour in your quarters. If I’m wrong, it’s ok to tell me. But if I’m not, I need to know that this isn’t just you wanting to get something out of your system before you go home. And now that you’ve told me how you feel about your need for a wife and family, it’s even more important. My life in the States is complicated and I’m past the point of indulging my personal whims. A stable home life. That’s my top priority, and it’s really not optional.” He dropped his hands slowly and took a half step back to give Alex some space. “I realize I’m asking a lot here but it’s better we understand each other. Are you just scratching an itch, by experimenting with men? Or is this something you’re both comfortable, and familiar with?”

Alex stared at John, hearing only rejection, trying in vain to stem the rising anger. He took a moment to tuck his shirt back in, wanting to smack himself bloody for exposing the scars in the first place. _When will you learn? Never show vulnerability. Never again._

“I can’t tell you where this is going, so I believe I had it right the first time—it’s best that I leave. I accept your apology, so please accept mine for dumping my _instability_ into your already-complicated life.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

With long strides, John easily caught up to Alex. “Stop!” he told him, coming around to face him, and pressed a firm hand against Alex’s chest. “I’m sorry.” With his hand still against Alex’s chest, he walked him back against the nearest wall, letting the shadows cast by the setting sun shield them. “Stop trying to leave, and talk to me. You’re over-thinking everything, it’s a yes or no question; are you uncomfortable with your attraction to me?”

If John had meant for this to calm and subdue Alex, he had failed; if anything, he’d thrown a lit match into the dry tinder that was the small man’s temper. It _ignited_. Alex slapped John’s hand aside, sidestepped past him so that he no longer had his back to the wall, and jutted his chin upwards as he confronted him.

“I am uncomfortable with a number of things at this moment, not the least of which is this entire line of questioning. What you’re _insinuating_ ” —he spat the word out as if it had a bad taste— “is that I would be some filthy little secret of yours, like that encounter of yours I walked in on.” Alex began to circle John like a wary animal. “All your talk of ‘home life’ and ‘seeking stability’ gives me the distinct impression you’re the one with a wife and a happy family waiting for you on the other side of this.

“So do me a favor: whatever baggage you’re carrying around, don’t throw it at my feet and expect me to pick it up. If you are, in fact, ‘past the point of indulging your personal whims,’ then perhaps you could save yourself the misunderstandings next time and keep your damned hands to yourself!”

Initially amused, John was now taken aback by Alex’s outburst. He crossed his arms over his chest, and shook his head angrily as Alex lashed out at his conservative responses, snorting at the word ‘encounter’, his nose scrunched in disapproval. When he finally ran out of steam, John turned away and scrubbed his scalp with his fingertips, ignoring the resistance in his right shoulder. He took a deep breath and settled the heel of his palms on his waist, shaking his head once more, and wondering why he had bothered with this attempt at all. Was he that depraved? If he were at a club somewhere, and bought an attractive man a drink or touched his shoulder, he would know. No need for transparency. But Frank had been a hard lesson to learn, and John was a quick study. When he turned back to face Alex, John was calmer, and his face no longer contemptuous. “I apologize, Lieutenant, for upsetting you, and for the misunderstanding.

As he walked past Alex he added, “Safe trip home, Soldier.” 

Alex watched him leave, nerves jangling from rage and adrenaline, until the Lieutenant’s form was lost to the night. The energy began to drain from his body; knees buckling, he fell against the wall and allowed himself to slowly slide to the ground. 

He sat there for a long while without moving, his body going numb. Eventually, he pulled himself off of the ground and began the long, lonesome walk back to his quarters.


	2. "Your Place or Mine?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan in the final days of their deployment, John and Alex make a connection, but it's not all smooth sailing as Alex explores his attraction to the Southern man and Laurens weighs the risks to himself and Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this collaboration, historynerd1783 covers John Laurens' point of view, while briteyes takes Hamilton's.

Alex awoke the next day to someone pounding on the door. He opened his eyes long enough to see the entire wall shift with the impact. “Go ‘way. ‘S too early,” he groaned.

“Alex,” came Robert’s voice. “It’s twelve-thirty in the afternoon!”

Alex rolled toward the wall and pulled the pillow over his face. “It’s early somewhere. I’m staying right here.”

Another knock. “C’mon, buddy, I haven’t seen you at mess for three meals.”

“Break down the door if you have to. I’m not going anywhere.”

He could hear Rob swearing under his breath. “Alex... you know better than I do what kind of paperwork there’ll be if that happens.” A pause. “Wait, you got company in there?”

“Wha—NO!” Alex sat up at that. He threw the standard-issue green blanket aside, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d fallen asleep in his BDU pants, with no recollection of removing his socks or boots. Stiffly, he got out of the bunk and reached for the door. Robert was standing there with an apple, a bottle of water, and a concerned expression. Alex stepped back to allow him in, throwing himself onto the bed once more.

“See?” Alex gestured around the tiny, ramshackle room. “All alone, once again. Story of my life.”

“There have been enough times,” Rob said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “that I’ve really wished that were the case.” He handed the fruit to Alex, who curled up on the bunk, turning it over in his hands. “Hey, who was that girl who came to visit you that time? Katy?”

“Kitty,” Alex corrected him, tonelessly. “She got married right before I shipped out.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Ham.” Robert sat beside Alex on the bunk, which creaked ominously. Alex shifted so that his upper back was leaning against Rob’s leg. Rob reached out and patted a freckled shoulder. “One more day, bud. One more day, and I don’t care if I have to haul the cargo out myself, I’m sticking you on a plane.”

He put the bottle of water next to Alex’s leg, gave his shoulder another squeeze, and stood to go. Alex twisted his torso slightly to look up at him. He reminded Rob of a housecat, more than anyone he’d ever met. “You need me to stay?”

“Yes,” said Alex, “but no. Thanks for the apple.”

“Don’t mention it.” He turned to leave, then hesitated. “Listen, if you’re up to it tonight, there’s this shindig… Nothing major, just a farewell to some of the guys shipping out and an excuse to dust off a few mouthwash bottles full of vodka.” When Alex didn’t respond, Rob leaned over and poked him in the arm. “It’d be good for you to get out of this room for an hour.”

There was a faint sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Rob said as he took his leave. He thought he could hear Alex biting into the apple as he shut the door behind him, and hoped it was more than wishful thinking.

John rose at five and went for a 5-mile run, as he had nearly every day since he took up running at seventeen to expend some of his pent up energy and frustration. When he was done, he rushed through his shower and shaved, dressed, and was in Greene’s tent a few minutes past six, having foregone breakfast. .. and coffee. It was his last full day at Bagram before he was flying home the next morning, and it was important to him to dot every ‘i’ and cross every ’t’ for Greene. As he methodically ticked off tasks on his list and made notes for the incoming aide, his thoughts would return to Alex and their conversation. He’d handled it horribly and he knew it. He expected Alex would be on the same flight out, and he didn’t want to leave things the way they were. Or risk exposure on the way back.

After a late lunch, at which he saw Captain Troup from a distance, he made a few casual inquiries and was able to learn the location of Alex’s quarters. The sun was high and hot as ever, beating down on his head as he knocked on the flimsy door he’d been directed to. _God, that’s unsafe_ , he thought, shifting his weight to his right foot while he waited.

After his visit from Robert, Alex felt compelled to drag himself out of quarters long enough for basic hygiene. _Two days from now_ , he promised himself, _I will lock myself in a proper shower and stay there until the entire building has run out of hot water_. He decided that, at least for today, it was something to live for.

He also decided that shaving required more energy and motivation than he was able to muster. Besides being off-duty, his beard grew in slowly and several shades lighter than his auburn hair; he could go the extra day unshaven before thumbing his nose at regulations. He examined first his stubble, then the rest of his face, in the small mirror.

He took note of his slightly sunken appearance and the dark circles appearing under his eyes, and chided himself for not hydrating properly on top of everything else. Food lacked appeal when his spirits were flagging, but there was no excuse for not keeping an extra bottle of water on hand.

He contemplated his visage for a moment longer. Why was he not handsome? He’d been told otherwise, and often enough, but here his normal confidence flagged. His nose was too long, his chin too pointed, forehead too expansive. His skin was speckled from the Afghan sun, and his cheeks too hollow from the stress of deployment. Even his best feature, his ocean blue eyes, disappointed him today—he remembered looking into John Laurens’ face, his eyes the welcoming shade of open skies. By comparison, the ones in the mirror seemed dull, like storm clouds over the Atlantic.

Still sullen, he returned to quarters, where he dressed mechanically and made up the bunk out of habit. Being productive, in some small way, made Alex feel better; he forced himself to dig out an LSAT study guide and a battered, secondhand law textbook, then sank down onto the bunk again.

He’d barely turned a page when a knock came at the door.

John heard movement inside. The familiar, unstable creak of every bunk he’d slept in for four years, so he knew Alex was inside. He hesitated a long moment before knocking again, and immediately regretted it, turning his back to the door. Maybe Alex was avoiding him. Honestly, he couldn’t blame him after rejecting him the night before, and both men were probably better off. _Why would you take such a risk, Laurens?_

Alex slowly pushed himself up, apprehensive. He knew two people on base, as far as he was aware, and if Rob were back, he’d be yelling.

He watched as the shadow cast beneath the door shifted and was already rising to his feet as the knock came again. He felt strangely disassociated, as if he were observing his body from a great distance, as he stepped across the room to open the door.

He recognized John’s figure instantly; it was the same as he’d last seen him, facing away, ready to walk out of Alex’s life forever.

Alex stood in the doorway for an eternity—or seconds—not daring to breathe. His lungs began to burn, and when the air finally came, it choked him, and he began to cough.

_Oh, that’s attractive. Just the impression I want to give. Maybe I ought to waste away of consumption while I’m at it._

But he didn’t move, and he didn’t shut the door, just stared after John, the way a drowning man does after a far-off ship.

John spun around, hearing Alex’s cough, and knit his eyebrows together in concern. Alex was on the pale side, but otherwise seemed alright, coughing fit aside. “Hey, you can tell me to fuck off if you want, and I will, but I was hoping we could talk for a minute—hey, are you okay?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, that’s… sure,” he said. _So much for that famed eloquence_. To his ears, his voice sounded hoarse and unused. He stepped back and allowed John into the room, letting the door swing shut. “I’d offer you something, but…” He looked about the sparse accommodations and shrugged.

John stepped inside, and immediately noticed the law tomes on the bed. “I’m fine,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, casually reading the spines. “I can’t wait to sleep on soft sheets again. Listen,” he said, taking a step further, “I want to apologize again for last night. I could have handled that better.”

Not trusting his voice, Alex nodded once more and cleared his throat. He noticed he’d been tapping his fist against his leg; he forced himself to stop, running a hand over his hair a few times.

“Yeah… uh, thank you,” he managed. “I… I owe you an apology as well.” This time, he raked both sets of fingers through his hair before letting his arms fall. “I haven’t exactly been myself lately.”

“No? Anxious about leaving?”

“‘Anxious’ isn’t the word I’d have used,” he said, though it now occurred to him that it ought to be. “More like anxious to be there.”

He studied Laurens for a moment. “What about you? You seem to be taking all of this in stride.”

John scoffed, and pulled his cap off of his head to clutch in his hands. When he spoke, his voice was more confident than he felt. “I did some theatre in high school. I guess I’m a better actor than I thought.” He glanced around the room, and noticed an absence of personal touches. No family photos or memorabilia. Most people had something to make their quarters feel like home. Picture of their spouse or significant other, maybe a piece of memorabilia from their favorite sports team, but Alex had nothing.  
"I just want my time to be my own again. Spend time with my family, drink beer and hang with my friends, press unpause on everything." His voice trailed off before he offered, "before I go back to school in January."

“ _Oh!_ ” Alex’s curiosity was immediately piqued, all self-consciousness and tension forgotten. “Where? What are you studying?”

John crossed his arms, his sling left behind on his bunk this morning, and took a step closer to Alex, his posture more relaxed than Alex had seen. “Law, actually," he said as his eyes landed on the LSAT book on the bed. "I went to the University of Virginia originally, but I'm transferring to USC—that’s the real USC, not the fake one on the West Coast,” he clarified, pointedly, “for my last semester and… “

“ _Really?!_ ” Alex’s entire face lit up. “Tell me, are you planning to go into practice? Is there a field you prefer?” He caught himself before he began to ramble, and cleared the books away. “Please, sit,” he said gesturing to the end of the bed as he perched on the edge by the small, flat pillow.

Sitting on the end of the bed parallel to Alex, John chewed on his lip, choosing his words carefully, always worried he’d give too much away. “No. No, private practice isn’t for me, I don’t think. At least that’s not the plan right now, who knows what the future holds. Honestly...” John turned to face Alex, tucking a leg under the other, his expression brightening. “I’d like to work for the ACLU. That’s my first choice anyway. Protect civil liberties. What about you?”

“That sounds incredible,” Alex told him. He swiveled and swung his legs up, twisting them pretzel-like beneath him. “I think I would love doing something like that. Although, to be honest,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his legs, “I’m having trouble narrowing down possibilities. I know, it’s somewhat premature, but after… all that happened during this tour, I’ve been especially interested in international human rights. I also love Constitutional law, I did one of my majors in political science, and since civil liberties are a crucial part of _that_ , I could tie it all together… but at the same time, I’ve always found economics fascinating.” He looked at John, eyes alight with intensity. “That was the other half of my degree. I didn’t expect to find tax laws or estates or bankruptcy, or really _any_ of that so compelling, but I have some experience there, too, and—” He broke off, realizing that he was monopolizing the conversation once more. “I, uh, guess you could say I’m… _enthusiastic_ about this.”

“Hey, someone has to be, right?” He chuckled and smiled kindly at Alex. “So… at lunch yesterday you had to leave abruptly; some issue with your travel arrangements. Did you get all that sorted out? Do you know when you’re leaving?”

“Tomorrow. _Allegedly_.” Alex clasped his palms together and looked heavenward. “I don’t care what I have to do, I will sacrifice a goat, whatever it takes, to be on a plane out of here tomorrow.”

John leaned back and laughed heartily. "I'd help you find one. I'm out of here tomorrow too, actually. I imagine we’ll be on the same flight. I've been trying not to think about it too much, but today, it's really starting to hit me. All the things I miss, I mean. Not just family and friends and all that, but the things we used to take for granted. My favorite restaurant, taking my bike up the coast, going out on the water, laps in the pool… I want to do it all immediately.”

Alex nodded absently, his mind 8,000 miles away. “I miss the water.” He sighed and met John’s eyes. “I don’t know about you, but when I’m away from the ocean too long, I can feel it. The air is wrong, the pressure…” He rubbed at his chest, as one would massage away a cramp. “I grew up on islands and if I have any say in the matter, I won’t live more than an hour’s drive from someplace with waves and tides.” He sat up and laughed for what seemed like the first time in a week. “Just one more strike against Kabul.”

John hummed, his eyes following the curve of Alex's lips as he smiled, and laughed, then abruptly looked away. "You would love Charleston. The water is beautiful, and the beaches are a big tourist draw. I miss being out on the water." He wiped the ever-present sweat from above his lip with his thumb and made a plan to spend a full day out when he got back. Solitude and his kind of heat, sun, and cool water before everything changed. "And I know what you mean about feeling different being away from the ocean. It's hot in the South, but the heat here… it feels wrong. I hate it."

He stretched his arms behind him, ignoring the stiffness in his shoulder and the gentle pull of healing flesh and sighed. "So you grew up on an island? Someplace nice I hope."

Alex chuckled, but the mirth didn’t reach his eyes. “You’d think so. I grew up in the Caribbean. It was paradise.” His gaze dropped to his lap, where he began to pick at the threadbare blanket. “And purgatory. The tourist industry leaves that part out: hurricanes, disease, abject poverty…” He shook his head. “It’s the most beautiful place on Earth, and I never want to set foot there again.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the scratch of Alex’s fingernails on the rough fabric. Alex sensed that John was giving him space, and for that he was grateful. “I do miss sailing, though. There’s nothing quite like being out on the water. As a kid, I used to make money by working on boats. I’d hire myself out as a cabin boy for rich tourists on yachts, or help fishermen cut and clean their catch. It would be so peaceful out there, with the waves rocking you…” his voice trailed off, and he raised his eyes to meet John’s, drawing in the compassion and gentle strength he saw there. “I think you’re right. I would love visiting South Carolina.”

“I’m sorry,” John whispered. He wanted to reach out to touch Alex, to comfort him, but he refrained, worried the gesture would come across as pity. “I’m impressed you sailed,” he said, standing. “I never learned myself. Probably the only Charleston boy to not. We have a… a boat, and I have a license, but I’ve always preferred horsepower to wind power.” He smirked wickedly, and took a half step closer to where Alex was still sitting on his bunk. “In high school I’d have parties on the boat. Never took it out far, that wasn’t the point, but we had a lot of fun. Now, if I can get out, I’d prefer to go alone. Pick up some food and drinks on the way, drive out for a couple of hours, drop anchor and just lie there, listening to the water lapping at the sides of the boat. Sometimes that’s the only quiet my brain can get.”

Alex closed his eyes, recalling the sound of waves against a hull, the tang of salt air, the motion of the sea. He remembered the last time he’d been sailing with his father, one of the last truly happy moments of his childhood. He had scrambled over bulkheads and shimmied up ladders, following his father’s instructions to adjust riggings and furl sails. He longed to feel the wind in his hair, the sun bright on his face…

His eyes fluttered back open as he wrenched himself back to the present, and the hostile, inhospitable country where they found themselves. The room had grown stuffy with the afternoon heat, and sweat was beginning to prickle the back of his neck. John had moved closer, and again, Alex was hyper-aware of his presence. He uncoiled his legs, his feet touching the floor, but did not stand. His mind, meanwhile, raced. He couldn’t understand what it was about this man, why he should stir up such an intense craving, to be near him, to touch him. Like so many children of failed relationships, Alex scoffed at the notion of ‘soulmates,’ yet there was something about John that electrified him, like the final component to a circuit he’d long overlooked. He was close, so close, Alex wanted to reach out his hand and touch him, but after the wretched night he’d had, he was cautious of initiating contact—what if John thought he were only indulging a momentary passion, quelling a curiosity? What if they never spoke again? _What if, what if, what if..._

“What I wouldn’t give to quiet my mind, even for just a moment.”

Ignoring the alarm bells going off in his head, John slid the back of his index and middle fingers down Alex’s cheek to his jaw. “You should visit me in Charleston,” he said, his voice dropping. “A day at sea with me will quiet your mind.” John didn’t remove his hand when he was done, moving his fingers back and forth slowly across Alex’s jaw.

Alex closed his eyes again, leaning into John’s touch like a cat being stroked. A part of his non-stop brain mused that a day at sea together would be anything but still, and also he regretted not shaving. Meanwhile his hand, unbidden, wended its way up to meet John’s. Their fingers interlaced. Alex turned his head to press his lips to John’s palm.

The intimacy of the act made John swallow hard, and his lips parted as he swept his thumb over Alex’s bottom lip.

A small sigh, barely more than an exhalation, escaped from Alex’s throat. He kissed the finger that drew across his mouth, giving it a playful, spontaneous nip.

In one fluid motion, he stood up on the bunk, using their gripped hands as leverage. With his other hand, he caught John around the side of his head, feeling the silky blond hair like velvet under his fingers. Alex’s thumb hooked under his jaw. As low as the bunk was, it gave Alex a height advantage, and he enjoyed the novel sensation of tipping John’s head back and lowering his own down until their parted lips met.

John's hesitation evaporated as their lips met. His hands flew first to Alex's waist, steadying him on his shaky bunk, before sliding up his back, his strong arms holding him against his chest. The kiss was intense, synchronized passion, until John broke it, drawing breath with a gasp. He let out a nervous chuckle, a cover for his chagrin that he’d broken his one rule on the last day, and wrapped his arms around Alex’s waist in their first embrace.

Alex had been kissing girls since his teenage years, when they’d discovered him (he’d noticed them long before, or so it seemed at the time), but nothing, even the hurried farewell from André, prepared him for the rawness and power he experienced in his first kiss with John. Girls were soft, sweet; they melted into him like delicate confections. As he and John came together, he felt the rasp of stubble against his, the firmness of his chest and sturdiness of his arms as they encircled him. Alex’s hands had moved to clasp the sides of John’s head, stroking his hair as they eased into sync with each other. As their mouths separated, Alex dropped his left hand, running his fingertips down the line of John’s neck to the bulge of his pectoral muscle, narrowly avoiding the wound hidden by his shirt. He followed this with a trail of gentle kisses along his jawline and the hollow below his ear, burying his face into John’s neck. He chortled to himself as he restrained from biting down. He wanted to eat this man alive, like a hearty meal after long deprivation.

Alex's touch prickled John's skin, nearly tricking him into believing a breeze had found its way through the gaps of Alex’s walls. He held the man tight in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on his back while Alex nestled into his neck. The affection he felt for Alex frightened and overwhelmed him. John was used to casual encounters, no attachment, no affection. Frank was different, but not different enough. What he felt with Alex something entirely new.

The rumble of a convoy of anticipated supply vehicles in the vicinity broke through his train of thought, and reminded him that their privacy was limited, and temporary. John pulled back slightly intending to leave. He still had a long list of things to do, and he hadn't even packed yet. When Alex raised his head to meet his eyes, though, his lips, plump and red from their kiss won the battle, and John took his bottom lip between his and coaxed his lips open so he could seek out Alex's tongue with the tip of his own.

John wrapped his left arm around Alex’s waist and moved his right hand over his chest and down his side again to his hip. They kissed until they were both breathless, and John’s body had reacted too enthusiastically to every touch. _It’s been too long_ , he told himself. _That’s why you’re reacting this way._

“What are your plans tonight? Are you going to the big send-off?” he finally asked.

“This isn’t it?” Alex laughed, leaning his head back while John explored his neck. The hint of stubble around John’s lips was ticklish against the base of his throat, and he all but squirmed with delight. His hands roamed down John’s chest, feeling the muscles ripple under his touch. His left hand snaked around and up his back; his right grabbed John’s left arm to steady himself. Every sensation was novel, each caress was a discovery. He wanted to throw himself into this new world and never leave.

Reluctantly, he leaned back slightly, trusting John to support him, and tipped his head forward to rest forehead-to-forehead. “I suppose I ought to at least make an appearance,” he answered. “After all, I count as one of the honored guests.” He chuckled again. “After that, you can ask me what my plans are.”

“It’s a deal, Lieutenant,” he said and kissed the hollow of Alex’s throat softly. “I need to get back, I have work to do, and I need to pack.” John peered around Alex at the room, and looked back up at him and winked. “As do you.”

“ _Pffft_ , please!” Alex looked around the room and shrugged. “I’ve got everything I want right here,” he said, giving John his most winning smirk and patting his cheek before hopping down to the floor. He scooped up his law books from where they had fallen, grabbed his duffel bag with the other hand and swung it onto the bunk before turning around to grin at John. “Now if I were you, I’d get a move on, or else neither of us will be going anywhere.”

A blush colored John's cheeks as he gripped the front of Alex's shirt with a loose fist, pulling him close enough to kiss him again; brief, but full of promise. "See you tonight then." He released Alex’s now creased sandy shirt and turned to leave, winking back at him before he opened the door to head back to Greene's tent. He didn’t leave the tent the rest of the afternoon, and even ate the lunch Greene himself grabbed for him at his desk until he dismissed him ceremonially one last time.

They shared a sentimental moment, during which Greene produced a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from a drawer in his own desk. He poured a generous amount into each and thanked John for his service to America and in his role as his aide for the last two years of John's deployment. John's circle of trust was tight, but Nathanael Greene was an important member, and was one of only a handful who knew how drastically John’s life would change once he was home. He offered words of advice and support, as the two men emptied their cups, sharing an embrace before John left to pack.

It took a depressingly short amount of time to pack everything he had into a duffel bag and backpack, a change of clothes folded neatly on top for his connecting flight. He had a bit of time before everyone was gathering to drink, and say their goodbyes so he lay on his bed and took a mental inventory of the last four years. His personal life had been more challenging than his service, which came naturally to John. When he arrived in Afghanistan, his life had been relatively uncomplicated. When he got back, though, he wouldn’t have much time to decompress before everything changed. He had so much to do, so much to learn and a paralyzing fear of failure, and now... there was an Alex. _Was there an Alex? What was this?_ He'd only met Alex a day ago, but it didn't feel casual to John. Restless, he got up and cleaned up, wiping his face and neck with cool water and putting on a clean shirt. He wasn't sure if he should go find Alex or look for him when he got to the party, so he decided to walk by his quarters on the way.

Elated and invigorated, Alex bustled about his quarters, making sure everything was in order for the next day’s departure. He found it difficult to enjoy himself unless all of the items on his mental to-do list had been crossed off, and as he very much intended to enjoy himself tonight, that meant using the next few hours wisely. He gathered up and packed the remainder of his belongings, sweeping the room twice for any overlooked objects, then laid out a fresh uniform for the next day, along with the few toiletries he would need in the morning. Alex also decided it would be best to shave after all, not just to clean up for the evening’s activities, but also to save himself valuable time the next day. His final order of business was to sort out a ride from the airport and confirm that he had a place to stay. He did some quick conversions in his head—it would be breakfast time on the East Coast—so he headed over to the communications center and managed to place a few calls.

Herc Mulligan didn’t answer. Alex had anticipated this, and left a quick voice mail to inform Herc that he would be arriving the next day, asking him to make up the second-best couch (which was, in reality, a well-furnished spare bedroom) and set aside some time to talk. His next call, to Nicholas Fish, went straight through. A burst of static and garbled sound assaulted Alex’s ear, making him jump.

“Nick, is that you?”

“He-hello? _Wait, Alex?!_ ”

“FISH!”

“HAM!” Both men laughed. “Where are you now? Are you back yet?”

“Seventh circle of Hell, still, but I leave tomorrow.”

“Seventh?” Fish sounded genuinely surprised, but then, he’d always been the type to take his literary allusions too seriously. “I had you pegged for the fifth.”

“Really, Nick, _that’s_ what you want to spend my five minutes from Afghanistan talking about?”

“Er, no… Listen, I’m on the subway, better make it quick.”

Alex felt a sudden urge to bang his head against the wall. He knew how lucky he was to be gifted with devoted friends to take the place of his absent family; Nick Fish was smart, sweet, and would give the shirt off his back if Alex needed it (and which, on at least one occasion, he had). He could also be so willfully oblivious that the rest of their circle enjoyed seeing Alex get as frustrated with someone as they did with him.

“I’m supposed to hit New York in a couple of days, can I call you for a ride?”

“Uh, sure? I think so. Do you know when you’ll be arriving?”

“About 20 hours after I leave. Unless there’s a long layover. Are you flexible?”

“As I said, I think. If you need to, call an Uber—” There was a burst of static and the line went dead. _An uber what?_ Alex wondered to himself as he headed back to his quarters. He was rounding the corner to his door when he saw John Laurens approaching from the other end of the hall. All of his organs, from his heart down to what was left of his kidney, seemed to leap an inch out of place. He fought the urge to run, to fling himself at the man. He paused outside his room, beaming as John came up beside him. He was no closer to figuring out what the hell this even was; all he knew was that, like someone given a taste of a curious, ripe fruit, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d sucked every bit of flesh from it.

The metaphor sent a shiver down his spine.

It required genuine effort for John to suppress the smile that would surely betray his affection for Alex in front of the entire base. He stood more erect as he stopped next to him in front of his quarters. "Lieutenant, I was wondering if we could compare itineraries for a moment before we join the others."

Alex stood at attention, back ramrod-straight, and fought his wide grin down to a smirk. _Two can play this game._ “Absolutely, Lieutenant. Would you prefer to speak privately, or should we discuss this on the way?”

John's attention narrowed to a point. He wants to play chicken, he concluded, amused. "We don't need to speak privately," he replied, emphasis on the word, 'need'. "We can accomplish what we need on the way, if you prefer."

Alex raised an eyebrow, but his tone never wavered. “Very well. Shall we?” He gestured down the hall, and John fell into step beside him.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, voice pitched low so that only John could hear. “This is your party, and I’ll stay as long as you like. I can hold my own at these things, plus Rob’s an old friend, so don’t feel like you need to entertain me while you say your good-byes.” He glanced up at John, flashing a wolfish, lopsided smile. “After that, I am all yours.”

John wanted to reach for Alex, to hold his hand. He stuffed his fists in his pockets as a deterrent, and walked with him towards the loud music blaring from tall speakers and good-natured carousing. "I have some friends to say good-bye to, I'm sure you do as well. I wish I were in a more jovial mood, but honestly the closer I get to leaving, the more anxious I get about being here. I feel like a caged animal." John kicked a tiny rock with the toe of his boot and watched it land on sand. Damn thing didn’t even bounce. “Just open my cage and let me run,” he murmured, waving as his friends made eye contact from a large aluminum tub filled with ice and bottles of soda.

Alex stopped. Something about John’s statement gave him pause. It dawned on him that, as enraptured as he was with this man, he was still a virtual stranger. Apprehension about a major life change was understandable; what John was describing was more akin to a man going _into_ battle, not heading home from it.

Alex thought of all his own family history he had yet to share. “John,” he called, his eyebrows low over concerned eyes, “are you alright?

John hooked his thumbs in the top of his pants and adjusted them on his hips, nodding his head. He wasn’t sure yet if Alex was someone he could confide in, but he didn’t want to risk putting him off before he decided what he wanted, so he put on his charming, Southern boy next door smile, and bumped him with his hip lightly as they walked. “I’m fine, just eager to stand on American soil again. What are your plans for the first few days?”

 _He’s deflecting. He must realize he isn’t fooling me with this,_ Alex mused. _‘Eager’ does not match up with ‘caged animal.’_ He began to make a set of mental notes, all the while smiling and chatting pleasantly, keeping the mood even. “I have a friend downtown I’m staying with for the time being. I assume he’s rallied the guys for something. Otherwise, I want to hit the ground running, settle in as quickly as possible. Why, what do you have planned?” Alex immediately winced at the banality and gritted his teeth.

“I promised my baby sister I’d stay at the house the first night.” He glanced sideways at Alex, who wasn’t wearing his jacket, and itched to taste his neck again. Eyes forward, soldier, he told himself and looked ahead to the party now in full view. “There’s a lot I need to take care of, but I’m planning on some time for myself. My family is planning something, I’m sure, and time with my friends is a necessity at this point, but I’m most looking forward to at least a day on the boat with nothing but the sun above me and water all around me.”

Alex nodded, thinking of their earlier conversation. At that moment, there was no place he wanted to be more than out on the water, alone but for John and the elements.

“Sounds like a good way to transition back to civilian life,” he said. Not far away, the music grew louder. “Me, I feel like I’ve had my life on hold long enough and I’m ready to jump right back in. I’m done wasting time.” He looked quickly back to John, “Present company excepted, of course.”

John smiled and looked at the ground in front of them. “Jumping back in is a good way to put it.”

“Laurens! Laurens! Laurens!” Two men in matching fatigues holding bottles of Coca-Cola chanted John’s name, waving him over. Well within the rules of social propriety, John threw an arm around Alex’s neck so the crook of his elbow touched the skin he’d been kissing a few hours ago, and leaned in close, his breath at Alex’s ear. His cardinal rule already broken, John threw caution to the wind, and extended an invitation. “Let’s have a few drinks, sing a few songs, and then go have some fun of our own.” He met Alex’s eyes and beamed for a moment before dropping his arm, and jogging into the waiting arms of his comrades who greeted him by clapping his back and rubbing his head.

Alex hung back, watching Laurens be engulfed by those he’d served with. Looking around, he saw other knots of camouflage, where similar scrums were forming about the rest of the departing soldiers. The music was loud, the bass turned up so that it was felt rather than heard. He stood for a moment, observing, taking in the atmosphere. His neck still prickled from the heat of John’s arm, and his head swam from the sound and his surge of emotions. Even without a drink in his hand, the energy was intoxicating. His grin widened; Alex was in his element.

Scanning the room, he picked out several young ladies in uniform, and, away from the music, a long table with refreshments. One familiar face jumped out: Captain Troup had spotted him and was making his way through the crowd. Alex waved and pointed at the array of commissary snacks, heading there himself. “Let us eat and be merry,” he murmured to himself, “for tomorrow we get the _hell out of here_.”

When Rob caught up to him, Alex was already picking through the bowls, nibbling on a handful of pretzels. “Looking good, LT,” he said. “Looking a whole lot better, in fact.” At least on the surface, Alex was back to his usual cocky self—alert, confident, smile like a fox in the henhouse—and Troup had a sense the blond beefcake he’d walked in with had a lot to do with that. It was a new development, to be sure, but hardly a shocking one: Alex’s sex life had stopped surprising him a long time ago. He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and leaned closer. “No bullshittin’ me now. Are you actually feeling okay, not just putting on a brave face for me?”

Alex met his eye and nodded once. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he said, pawing through a bucket of drinks to pull bottles of water from beneath the rapidly-melting ice. He held one out to Rob. “Sorry there isn’t anything stronger. If this were the RSM, we’d at least have beer.”

“I miss beer,” Robert said with feeling, taking the bottle from Alex. His face turned wistful. “Fresh bottle in my hand, watching the Jets play...”

Closing his eyes, Alex summoned remembrances of their younger days—carefree college hangouts, happy hours and neighborhood haunts. His expression softened. “The time we all crowded into Sam Nicoll’s apartment with the cheap keg…”

Rob laughed at the memory. “That stuff was such shit.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m talking about a good beer with a juicy burger—”

“A Belgian wheat with _moules-frites!_ ”

A deep, unfamiliar voice cut in from the other side of the table. “Cold lager and a cheesesteak,” it rumbled. They turned to see a weathered Lieutenant Colonel with ‘Butler’ on his chest.

“Just a lager?” Alex asked him, cocking an eyebrow. “Any particular brand you prefer?”

Butler’s nose wrinkled with disdain. “Where I’m from there’s only _one_ lager.”

Troup leaned over to Alex. “Yuengling,” he prompted. At Alex’s blank look, he rolled his eyes and addressed the senior officer. “Philly, I take it?” Rob extended a hand. “Jersey.” Beside him, the proverbial lightbulb flicked on in Alex’s head.

“New York,” said Alex, shaking hands as well, “and headed back tomorrow! But next time I’m down there, I’ll go to Geno’s in your honor.”

Butler’s impassive face became animated as he jumped into what appeared to be a favorite topic, and the men spent the next quarter-hour listening to a breakdown of his hometown’s iconic dish.

“So tell me about this Yuengling,” Alex cut in finally, prompting a groan from Rob.

“No! Absolutely not fair to make me listen to this _sans_ beer, so unless one of you has something stronger—”

At this, Butler chuckled, tapping the side of his nose and signaling them to stay put. As he began to move away, Alex called after him. “What makes it so special?”

“I dunno. Maybe it’s all in the wooder!” the officer yelled back with a shrug.

Rob shook his head, twisting the cap off his water. “We always said you could charm anything with two legs and a pulse.”

“Pulse at a minimum; legs are optional,” Alex replied automatically. He elbowed Troup, his laughter ringing out over the noise of the room as they tapped the necks of their water bottles together.

Leaning against the impromptu bar, he turned to face the room, with Rob following suit. Through the crowd, Alex sought out John’s face. He watched as John celebrated with a group of officers, and warmth spread through his chest, as though he’d downed a hot drink.

John enjoyed his Coke as much as he could, and added: _pick up craft beer_ to his list of things to do at home. It wasn’t long before he looked for Alex, finding him at the bar with Troup, and more than once he caught himself eyeing him from boots to the ginger hair he wanted to feel between his fingers. He imagined meeting Alex at Mynt in Charleston, where he wouldn’t have to keep a respectable distance from him. They could dance so close their hips touched, and nuzzle his neck… hell, he could have Alex in his lap in a booth and no one would say a word. Here, he had to monitor his expressions, be careful with his wording, and look away before he wanted to.

He swished the last sip of his warm soda before emptying the bottle, and went to find another. Alex and Troup were hard to miss standing in front of the temporary bar, and John smiled at them both as he made his final approach. “Captain Troup, good to see you again,” he said, shaking his hand. When he let go, he turned to Alex. “Lieutenant, enjoying yourself?” John dug around and found another bottle of Coke which he opened right away, swallowing several mouthfuls while it was still cold.

What Alex was, he never said, as he was interrupted by Butler coming up to them, a stack of Dixie cups in one hand and a tall bottle in the other. He lined up the cups and poured a measure in each. Alex took one eagerly, before any of the others could move. “To home,” he toasted, taking too large a drink and realizing it too late. For a moment, he found himself all-but-doubled-over as he fought to keep from coughing, spitting, and shooting fire from several orifices on his face. When he stood up again, he saw through watery eyes that John, Robert, and Butler were all staring at him with various mixtures of concern and amusement.

“That’s a taste I still need to acquire,” he said, throwing a wobbly salute to the Lieutenant Colonel and reaching for his glass again. “What is this, anyway?”

“Glenfiddich, 12 year.” Butler gave him a twisted smile. “Good enough for special occasions, not too good to waste on a kid like you.”

Alex was too busy spluttering to object to being called ‘kid.’ It occurred to him, in that ever-vigilant part of his brain, that he was the only one struggling to drink the Scotch, which, of course, meant he was now committed to doing just that. The annoying, rational voice continued, pointing out that, as an undersized man with low alcohol tolerance and limited kidney function, this was a _terrible_ idea, but thanks to his innate stubbornness (and with the help of the alcohol now in his system) he was able to ignore it.

He gave John a wink— _Christ, the man is stunning_ —and raised the glass to him before taking a very small sip. It burned slightly less this time.

John faced both men, mouth slightly agape, soda bottle suspended midway to his mouth as he watched Alex’s body reject the Scotch. When he’d seemed to recover, and either bravely or stubbornly, took another sip, John reached for a cup from the tabletop between Alex and Troup, smirking at Alex before emptying the contents with one swallow. He half turned so he was facing Alex and wiped his bottom lip with his thumb before chasing the Glenfiddich with a sip of his soda. “You really do need to come to South Carolina, Alex,” John said in a teasing tone. “Come out with me and my friends and build up your tolerance. Eat some good barbecue, lounge on a beach that hasn’t been on an episode of _Law & Order_, and loosen up.” He set the empty cup back on the counter and nodded at Butler. “How about another for a man who took two bullets in service to his country?”

Alex’s mouth was struggling more so than usual to keep up with his thoughts. “How did y—what a—could the—TWO bullets?!” He swiped the drink out of John’s hand, took a quick sip, shuddered, and pressed it back into his fist. “How many hunks of shrapnel before I get superhuman powers?”

In a bold move given Troup’s proximity and attention, John leaned in towards Alex so their thighs touched and replied, “We’ll never know, because _you’re_ going home.” John didn’t like the thought of Alex wounded, so he picked up his refilled cup, exchanged a knowing glance with Troup, and casually drank the Scotch whisky as smoothly as if it was a sip of water.

Rob, who had been holding back during this entire exchange, took one look at Alex’s incredulous face and began to laugh hysterically. Alex, meanwhile, was gesturing with both hands and howling, “HOW DO YOU DO THAT?! Are you secretly some kind of masochist? _Why are your sinuses not on fire?!_ ” Once Rob managed to catch his breath, he leaned over to Laurens, who was now attempting to pull Alex together and herd him out the door, and clicked bottles. “Good luck to you, man,” he said, draining his cup of liquor and preparing to make his own exit. He smacked Alex on the shoulder and told him he’d see him off the next day.

Alex waved over his shoulder, not paying attention to anything but John’s powerful grip and his own precarious footing as he allowed himself to be guided away from the noise and the crowd.

After abruptly walking out of their own party, John let go of Alex so he could walk on his own, and chuckled lightheartedly. He was heading for Alex’s quarters, but the moment he knew they were out of everyone’s line of sight at the party, he took hold of Alex’s wrist and pulled him to a dark path hidden by shadows between two massive supply tents, and pressed his mouth to his, hard and needy. He looped his left arm around Alex’s neck and his right around his lower back, so he had a very firm hold of the man he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

The air changed as soon as they’d stepped away from the party’s perimeter, becoming cleaner and less close. Alex breathed it in, trying to clear his head as he accompanied John back towards the barracks, until a sudden tug on his wrist nearly sent him sprawling. To stay upright, he executed the sort of _pas de bourrée_ that his mother would have been proud of, and all but ran to keep up with John. _Odd, the things that remain in our muscle memory_ , he mused, mind detached as sturdy arms wrapped themselves about him, lips and tongue and teeth joining in a frenzy of desire. He slid his arms around John’s body, fingers kneading their way up his back. A moan of pleasure reverberated in his chest as their bodies pressed together.

When John’s fingers skirted the edge of Alex’s fatigues he knew it was time to take their desire private. He pulled away, letting Alex’s bottom lip slip between his own, and sighed. “You’re a really good kisser,” he panted. “We need to take this somewhere else, though, if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, that’s what I want,” he answered, breathless. “Your place or mine?”

John chewed on his top lip while he considered the options. He was pretty sure that Alex was inexperienced with men, and he wanted him to enjoy whatever he was comfortable with; not worry that he had to follow through. “Yours,” he answered, his hands on Alex’s chest. If Alex had reservations or wanted John to leave for any reason it was better that he simply leave Alex’s quarters, then Alex had to have an awkward conversation.

“ _Mine_ ,” whispered Alex. _And tonight, he thought, he will be. All mine_. “Then why are we still standing here?” He stepped back and began to sweep his arm before John, then stopped short, grabbing his wrist. “I should ask…” His voice faltered momentarily. “Do you have everything you, erm, _need_ for the evening?”

John's smile faded, and he took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. He needed to be up front with Alex, but this was a conversation for complete privacy. He snorted and draped his arm around Alex’s neck, pointing with his free hand in the direction of Alex’s room.

Alex leaned against John, snaking an arm around his waist as they made their way back. A thrill shot through him, his stomach twisting in anticipation. Alex thrived on this, these exhilarating moments before taking a new partner to bed. The way he perceived the world through heightened senses, it sharpened his focus and made everything seem so much more immediate. Each touch made him quiver, every heartbeat was full of promise, bringing him closer to—

The door came into sight as they rounded a corner.

John managed to hold on as Alex fumbled with the key, and they were inside. He kicked the door with his foot, and again, harder when it stuck off-kilter in the frame. Now that they were safely inside, he gave Alex a moment to right himself.

Alex took a second to discreetly adjust himself and run a hand through his hair. He stepped forward and, grabbing John’s arm, Alex pulled him around so they were facing each other. Alex kept his eyes on John’s and reached a hand up to his cheek, gazing up at him with equal parts wonderment and lust.

John’s smile was uncharacteristically sweet for the occasion, as he took Alex’s face in his hands, ducking to kiss him lightly for several rapid heartbeats. “Alex...” he began, his tone serious. “I am deliberately unprepared for sex when I’m on base for my own reasons. I get the feeling that’s what you want, and God knows, I want you, but I can’t here,” he explained, then kissed him again, a little longer this time. He took a breath and stood up straight, dropping his hands to Alex’s neck. “That doesn’t mean that we can’t have a great night together, but I’ll follow your lead, ok? Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Alex hesitated as he stood before John, hands resting on his chest. “How do you _do_ that?” he asked, a rasp in his voice. “I thought I had people figured out: how to read them, how to find patterns in behavior… but you…” He shook his head. “I _cannot_ figure you out. Everything you say or do contradicts something else in some way. I am… you’ve got me so worked up—” Alex laughed to himself, his face reddening, “I want to tear that uniform off of you with my teeth, I want to take you, and…” With some embarrassment, he lowered his gaze to John’s chest, where he realized he had the front of John’s shirt crumpled in his fists. “And then, you open your mouth and out falls a well-bred Southern gentleman,” Alex sniffed. “I have never felt this way about anyone, man or woman,” he confessed, yanking the jacket off John’s left arm and slowing to carefully peel it away from his injury. “And I’m not going to be satisfied until I understand why.”

WIth that, he pulled John to him, the khaki undershirt once again balled into a hand, and kissed him, _hard_. Gradually, it became less frantic & insistent; he let go of the shirt, moved his free hand from where it gripped John’s shoulder, and began running his fingers up his neck and stroking them across his cheeks.

John’s jacket hit the floor, and his lips met each kiss with passion, as well as measured restraint while Alex removed his ACU jacket. With both jackets discarded, he encircled Alex’s waist with his arms and leaned into his touch at his cheek. “Don’t worry about figuring me out… let’s just get to know each other, one day at a time.” He angled his head to look up into Alex’s eyes— _were they blue?_ —and nipped his jaw playfully. “The rest will work itself out. We only met yesterday, and I can’t explain it any better than you can, I guess, but I want to get to know you better, if that’s possible.”

The last part was hard to get out, pregnant as it was with risk to John. He leaned back, without breaking eye contact with Alex, ensuring he saw no retreat in John's eyes. He couldn’t find a point of reference for it, but he perceived that Alex needed reassurance that John wouldn’t bolt as soon as they were done.

Alex threw his head back, forcing himself to breathe evenly as John’s lips traveled across his torso. Each movement, each kiss was slow and deliberate; Alex was reminded of wildlife experts encountering skittish beasts. Did that make him the wild creature, unpredictable, ready to fight or flee…? The thought amused him and, combined with John’s ticklish fingers, made him giggle. He took a step forward, forcing John to sit up a bit, and began to untuck his shirt, guiding John’s hands beneath it.

He sighed audibly as warm fingers brushed his bare skin, and he sank down to perch on John’s knee, running his own fingers across John’s chest and down the muscles of his abdomen. Their mouths met again as he fumbled with the fabric of John’s t-shirt, and he paused a moment to sink into the kiss, breaking apart as John’s hands moved upwards. Alex wriggled out of his shirt and began to help John do the same. With their bare torsos almost touching, Alex longed to push John down onto the bed, but at that moment, two things happened.

First, Alex realized he still had his boots on. _Dammit!_

And then, he saw John’s gunshot wounds for the first time. He gasped at the raw, red holes in John’s otherwise flawless body, as though someone had taken a pick-axe to a priceless Greek sculpture. He realized he’d recoiled from the sight and was looking at John with the same sentiments he detested from others—horror and pity.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, brushing John’s cheek with his knuckles and trailing his fingers down his neck. “Nothing prepares you, does it?”

John watched Alex’s reaction closely. The damage to his shoulder was still angry and red, nearly a month after the stitches had been removed and the obsidian bruising had, at last, faded to just a few spots of barely visible yellow. Still, it would be a grisly scar, like a shark bite. The crumpled skin blended into another scar, his first gun shot wound, pale in color, and obviously older. He wrapped his left arm around Alex, holding him steady on his knee, and ran his fingers down the scar on his side just above his obliques. This one, caused by a knife he didn’t see, started at his side, but curved around to his back by a couple of inches. He’d felt that more than the bullet. “The other guy looks worse?” he whispered in jest, but in truth, he had no idea what became of the men that had managed to draw his blood. He lost track in the confusion.

Alex leaned into John’s arm, just enough to draw the warmth and security from his body, and pressed his forehead to John’s, fingers stroking his hair. “As you should be,” he whispered back. For a moment, neither of them moved. Alex relished the intimacy, feeling John’s breath on his face, his very presence reassuring. He shifted, trying to bring his leg up to swivel about and face John, but as he turned to straddle him, his boot caught and only John’s steadying arm kept him from sprawling.

“Dammit!” he hissed out loud, and spun around the other way. With his back now to John, he scrambled to untie his boots. “Stupid… clumsy… things…” he snarled under his breath. “I don’t even like wearing _shoes!_ ” He kicked them away, not bothering to notice where they landed. He straightened and arched his back, shaking with suppressed laughter as he turned his head to give John a sheepish smile.

With Alex’s back to him, John had a moment to look at his body, tilting his head to take in the lean, but well-formed muscles across his shoulders, his eyes lingering on the wounds he bore in service before travelling down to the top of his fatigues. The bed shifted under them as Alex wriggled to right himself on John’s lap and, deciding enough was enough, he wrapped his arm around his belly, and effortlessly flipped Alex onto his back on the bed. John's hands snatched his forearms, and pinned them down on his pillow, while he positioned his body on top of him in a motion that could have been choreographed. His right knee came up the inside of Alex's thigh before he stopped himself and released his grip on Alex's arms. "Sorry," he whispered.

“ _For what?_ ” Alex propped himself up on his elbows, eyes dark with desire. He slid his arms around and up John’s back, their bare chests pressed together. He rubbed the tip of his nose across John’s cheek, lips brushing, and brought his leg up behind John’s bent knee. From there, he was able to get just enough leverage to flip John over on his back, landing heavily on top of him, legs entwined. From his new vantage point, he gave John a wicked smile, silently thanking his high school phys ed wrestling requirement. He snaked his hands around John’s flanks, up his chest, and continued until he had found John’s hands and pinned them up over his head.

John's hips rose to meet Alex's and his breath came quick and heavy as he adjusted to their new position. John was used to having men underneath him, less so above him, but Alex taking control was intoxicating and he realized he wanted to yield his control to Alex. He flexed his fingers, more a taunt than a measure of resistance as his mouth found Alex's throat, nipping with his teeth, and sucking at his sweaty skin.

The sensation of John’s lips and teeth against his skin sent jolts through Alex’s body, causing him to gasp. At first, he redoubled his efforts to subdue John, pressing against his arms and gently biting at the base of his neck. Slowly, he worked his way back up, sliding the tip of his tongue along John’s jaw to his earlobe, giving it a playful tug. Alex worked his way back to John’s mouth, kissing him deeply as he released his partner’s arms and let his hands flow over John’s body, massaging one nipple with his thumb and giving it a soft pinch with his fingers.

John delighted to find himself at Alex’s mercy. Every touch, every kiss, every caress aroused him, and he moaned louder than he should have. Subconsciously, he knew he’d let his guard down, but consciously… He sucked in a sharp breath when Alex pinched his nipple, and reached around to knead his ass, holding him against his body as he ground his hips up against him. “Alex...” he moaned, and moved a hand around to slide two fingers inside the waist of Alex’s fatigues, desperate to explore more of him.

Small, involuntary sounds escaped from Alex’s throat as John’s fingers began probing at his waistband. His skin prickled as John ranged over his body, and he found himself pressing ever harder against him, falling into sync as their bodies heaved and rolled together. He fumbled one-handed for the zipper of John’s trousers, then, impatient, brought his knees up until he was straddling John’s lower half, taming him long enough to unzip his fatigues and help him begin to wriggle free.

Using Alex’s weight on his legs as leverage, John propped himself up on his elbows, and watched Alex work at his fastenings. He sighed heavily as more skin was exposed, and clutched Alex’s thighs tight before he dropped back down, his zipper finally undone, and lifted his hips so Alex could get his pants down.

John shifted obligingly, and Alex slid his fingers beneath the waist of John’s fatigues and around to his back. He plunged them deeper, leaning down to run his mouth along the muscles of John’s abdomen as he slipped John’s clothes down, revealing his body in all of its glory. His face still buried in John’s skin, Alex fought the urge to sit up and look; instead, he worked his way to John’s navel, probing it lightly with his tongue as he brought his hands back up and gripped John’s ass with both hands.

His skin was cooler there, smooth and firm like marble. Alex shifted his knees lower, so that he was all but laying on John’s legs as he squeezed at his flesh, kneading it with his fingers and drawing a line of small, slow kisses downward along the trail of hair.

John’s breath was audible in the room, as Alex kissed and undressed his body. He felt unexpectedly self-conscious as Alex moved beyond his navel. All of this was second nature to him, but was likely new to Alex. It was one thing to be in John’s position, another entirely to be where Alex lay between his legs. Would he be put off? He hadn’t balked so far. He licked his dry lips, and reached a hand down to touch Alex’s cheek. “Alex, you really don’t have to,” he said, giving him a chance to stop if he wasn’t ready.

At his touch, Alex glanced up, studying John’s face from deep beneath his eyebrows. Without lifting his head or breaking his gaze, he prowled forward, panther-like, until they were face-to-face again. He gently pressed John back down onto the bed and guided his hands back to where they’d been at his waistband, rolling off to one side to allow him easier access. “Ah, John…” he sighed, bringing his palm up to steady John’s face. “Don’t you know that I _want_ to?” he whispered, the tips of their noses touching.

It was true; he’d wondered, since the first time a woman had taken him into her mouth and set him gasping, ‘ _what is that like?_ ’ It had been an academic question at the time, but had since grown from idle speculation to persistent fascination. “But,” he purred into John’s ear, “I can make you wait.”

With Alex’s sultry voice in his ear, John decided to stop treating Alex as though he were fragile and skittish when he'd been anything but. He left open mouthed kisses on his throat, where he laved his tongue over his Adam's apple, and tugged at his unfastened pants until he managed to slip a hand inside. His eyes locked on Alex's as his fingers found flesh, both hard and soft at the same time and John moaned, pressing his lips against Alex's throat again.

Back arched, Alex let out a brief, ecstatic “ _Ah!_ ” as John’s hand thrust underneath his clothing and closed around him. He shut his eyes and clutched at John’s head, burrowing his fingers into the silky plush hair as his senses threatened to overwhelm him. He felt constrained suddenly, scrabbling at the layers of too-warm fabric still clinging to his skin. “Take these off,” he told John, a command that came out in a husky undertone as he felt his control starting to slip.

“Sir, yes, Sir,” John teased, but gave Alex a few gentle strokes before rising up on his knees and turning towards the head of the bed. He jerked his chin slightly, and instructed, “On your back,” while he worked his fatigues off, leaving the black briefs that concealed nothing at this point. John worked quickly, and in seconds, Alex lay bare on the bed, staring up at him with such desire, such want, that he paused to savor it. Where Alex had hesitated to stare, John didn’t, scanning every inch of his body. He caressed and kissed his chest, he moved down Alex’s body, his tongue coming out to meet his hip while he hooked his arms under his legs, and planted his palms on Alex’s flat stomach. He began with Alex’s left thigh, kissing softly, and sucking along the inside of his leg, giving extra attention to the sensitive skin inside his knee. Before he made his next move, he glanced up, finding Alex’s attentive eyes on him.

Alex lifted his head from the pillow, where he’d been savoring John’s attention, then propped himself up into a half-sitting position, looking at John quizzically as he fought to catch his breath.

John’s boldness and skillful ministrations made Alex begin to realize just how inexperienced he was in this situation, and for all his bravado, he was beginning to feel self-conscious (more so, now that he was naked) and vulnerable. “Don’t stop,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

John planted a soft kiss high on the inside of Alex’s thigh before shaking his head slightly, a smile pulling at both corners of his mouth. He held Alex’s length in the palm of his hand gently and, when he’d established eye contact with him once more, whispered, “Don’t think about anything, okay? Just enjoy it.” He found Alex’s hand, and wove their fingers together, something he’d never done before, and finally closed his mouth around the head of his erection, and pushed his lips down his shaft steadily until his nose touched auburn hair. He froze, taking a measured breath through his nose, and let Alex luxuriate in the wet heat of his mouth.

With a soft cry as John’s mouth engulfed him, Alex let his head hang backwards. He took a deep, steadying breath, and then another, sinking back onto the pillow. Soon, he was conscious of nothing but the workings of John’s tongue and lips and the grip of their intertwined fingers. His other hand reached down, coming to rest lightly on the back of John’s head. He applied no pressure, feeling it rise and fall with the tempo of his own thrusting.

John came off to gather air in his lungs, replacing his mouth with his fist, and rocked his hips forward and back, seeking the relief of friction for himself against the coarse army issue blanket. “I could lose myself in your thighs, Alex,” he told him, voice throaty and full of need as he kissed his left thigh.

Alex managed a brief chuckle, catching his breath as he settled into the new rhythm. The feel of John’s hand, while no less skilled, diminished the intensity, allowing Alex to ease back from the brink and enjoy himself. “Don’t,” he answered, “I’d hate to lose you.” He reached for John, fingers brushing his shoulder. “Come back up here.”

John was perplexed. He was learning quickly that he had a hard time not giving Alex what he wanted, so he crawled back up for a kiss, but he stopped himself before their lips could touch. What if he was put off by kissing him now? "I wasn't finished," he objected, and began stroking his length in long, languid strokes, his fist closing over his head on each upstroke. "Were you close?" he asked, curiously.

For a second, Alex could only moan in response. He twisted around so that he could kiss John, fully and without reservation. He slid his hands down John’s body, stopping when his fingers touched the elastic band of his briefs. “Yeah,” he said when he could speak again, “but you weren’t.” And with that, he slipped John free of the last piece of clothing between them.

John nudged Alex’s legs open with his knees before he hooked his arm under Alex’s left leg, and hiked it around his waist. His left leg went over Alex's right so he could lay flat against his lithe body. Once he was satisfied with the alignment, he licked at Alex's bottom lip, encouraging a deep kiss while his fingers laced with his again. He used their clasped hands as leverage, forcing Alex's fist to the bed and ground down in a circular motion against Alex’s pelvis. John was the first to moan as he repeated the movement over and over.

Limbs entwined, with John pressing tightly against him, the raw, craving _need_ in Alex’s body began to crescendo. He felt the vibration of John’s voice thrum in his chest, and his own cried out, “Oh, God, John! _John…!_ ” His leg tightened where it wrapped around his lover, driving them together, but it wasn’t enough—he cast his free hand out wildly, and it landed against John’s ass with a satisfying _smack_. Alex’s fingers grasped the curve of his flesh, forcing the tension between them to its peak.

Alex shuddered under him, and John grinned, exhaling warm breath against his cheek. He realigned his body over Alex for his own comfort and snapped his hips a handful of times before he came, swearing under his breath until he was done.

He dropped his head to Alex’s chest and relaxed his arms while he caught his breath, panting heavily. “Alex?” he whispered, and messily found Alex’s mouth with his.

Alex moaned against John’s mouth, and folded his arms across his back, clinging to him like a drowning man. It occurred to him, as his mind fought its way back through fathoms of consciousness, that in some sense he was.

When their lips parted at last, Alex buried his face against the skin of John’s neck, taking in the earthy scent of his skin until at last his heart ceased to pound in his ears.

“... _dammit_ ,” he whispered. “Why do I get the sense it all gets complicated now?”

The mess between them forgotten for the moment, John kissed Alex’s lips delicately. "I guess because it does… if you want complicated, that is."

“No, I don’t want complicated,” said Alex, peeling his arms away from John’s back. Before he even realized what he was saying, he added, “I just want _you_.”

John thought of everything he would be asking of Alex and swallowed hard. "I can't offer uncomplicated, Alex, but I don’t want to say goodbye." He paused to kiss Alex once firmly and licked his lips before continuing, "I want to see where this might lead, but it won't be easy. I'm happy to travel to you as often as I can, but I'm not going to have the kind of freedom that a long distance relationship usually calls for. How do you feel about all that?"

Alex gave John’s bottom lip a nibble, which led to more kissing, which bought him some time. He thought of how sore his lips were, of the stickiness cooling between them… of the tight pressure he’d felt around his heart since John’s eyes first met his… of the expense of traveling down the eastern seaboard… and of that dreadful hollowness the night before, when he’d watched John walking away, presumably out of his life forever…

Alex pulled away and stroked John’s cheek with the back of his hand. With a crooked smile, he answered, “I feel like giving it a try.”

John wondered how much he was obligated to share with Alex at this point, but pushed the thought aside. He could figure it out later, after he’d had a chance to talk to his close friend, Gabe, when he got home. His sister Martha would weigh in before he could ask her opinion. John's smile mirrored Alex's before he kissed him tenderly, as though they'd struck an agreement of sorts. A handshake, with kiss-bitten lips.

“So…” he said sitting up, “I didn't prepare for sex, but that doesn't mean I am entirely ill-prepared.”

He bent over the side of the bed to reach for his jacket, and produced a small package containing an Army issued wet wipe that he shook out, and used to wipe Alex's stomach down. “I have something to ask you, now that we've agreed to try this.” He looked up from the mess on his stomach to clarify, “You can say no and it won't change anything, but I have a proposition of sorts.”

Trying _very_ hard not to laugh as he dried himself with the Army’s blanket—the wet wipe was a stroke of preparedness that delighted Alex to the cockles of his detail-oriented heart—he leaned over to do the same for John.

“Alright, I’m listening.”

The wipe was discarded over the edge of the bed, and John settled on his side, his leg comfortably nestled between Alex's knees. While he crafted his offer, his fingers stroked from the top of Alex’s arm down to his elbow, and back up again, resting atop his shoulder.

“Come to Charleston with me when we land.”

Alex leaned away and looked John full in the face, chewing his lip thoughtfully as he considered this. He had few civilian clothes with him, but it would be enough to get started; aside from that, there was nothing in his storage unit in NY that he couldn’t live without for a little longer. He’d have to call Fish & Herc again, but anyone else could be contacted later. All his study materials were either with him, available online, or could be borrowed from a library.

“I’m in,” he said brightly. “Let’s go.”

Surprise lit John's eyes. “Really? I thought I'd have to sell you on the idea,” he laughed. “If you need anything, you can borrow some of my things. You're ok with a lime green Speedo right?”

 _That’s adorable_ , Alex thought with a smirk, _thinking your clothes would fit me_. “I’m going to need a little more than that. And,” he looked pointedly down at his body, particularly the thatch of hair which was a far more pronounced ginger than the auburn on his head, then back up at John, “I have a feeling that will... clash.”

Sometime after, Alex lay sprawled on the bed, watching through increasingly heavy eyelids as John gathered his things and dressed. Though neither of them spoke, he felt the erotic charge as John’s eyes roamed over his naked body, showing off his own even as he layered on his fatigues. It was like watching a striptease in reverse, yet somehow more intimate.

As John was lacing up his second boot, he cleared his throat, and pushed himself up from the balls of his feet, bouncing in place. “So, uh—I’m not usually that—quick,” he said, blushing through what felt like a confession. “I mean, it’s been a dry spell—you know? I’m usually better—” he explained, placing his hands on his hips and grinning impishly. “I am—better than that, I mean. Just so you know. I didn’t want you thinking I can’t—I have more stamina than that,” he sputtered.

Alex chuckled, giving John a languorous grin. “I do, too, I’ll have you know.” His voice was thick with imminent sleep. “You had me quite… wound up.” The last thing he was aware of was John’s gentle goodnight kiss; he was asleep before the door clicked shut.

It was nearly midnight when John walked back to his own quarters. Although he wore a satisfied smile on his face, the last twenty-four hours were beginning to take a mental toll, and he crashed the moment his head hit the pillow, landing in his dreams, where fears of failure always seemed to find him.

He was up at five, lacing his shoes to run before the rest of the base woke up, and by seven he’d showered, shaved, and dressed in a clean uniform. He wanted to look sharp for America.

Since he’d woken, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Alex. Actually, worrying about him was more accurate. Was it best to come clean now about everything? What if Alex bailed? What if he didn’t?

Robert Troup had been through his morning routine—PT, shower, coffee, more coffee—when he realized that, once again, he’d seen no sign of Alex since the night before. He looked at his watch: 0800 hours. He was near enough to the BOQ that if he hurried, he could swing by and check on him before his shift began. He quickened his pace. The Ham ( _Faucette_ , he corrected himself) he’d known all these years was an early riser, seldom asleep past seven, and in far too many cases it had been due to a medical emergency or similar crisis. He’d had reason enough to be concerned for him of late, and now that he was hours from boarding the transport home—

Rob arrived at Alex’s door, pounded on it, and remembered too late the _other_ reason Ham would occasionally sleep in. The cheap door popped open and swung wide, treating Rob to the sight of Alex, naked as the day he was born, reclined across the disheveled bunk. While he was alone at the moment, long experience had taught Rob that he’d had company at some point.

“OH FOR FUCK’S _SAKE_ , ALEX!” he thundered, averting his gaze as he fumbled for the door and slammed it shut again. “Isn’t it time for you to be on a plane?!”

He swore he could hear Alex snickering on the other side of the door. “At least it wasn’t in _my_ bed this time,” he called back as he stomped away.

John was still weighing his options when he joined friends for a breakfast of eggs, homefries, and sausage, and took his time saying goodbye to eat up more time as the clock inched towards his flight. Tomorrow he’d feast on Maria’s home-cooked meals. His mouth watered as he stared into the bottom of his coffee cup, scrunching his nose at the grounds that remained. He returned his dishes, exchanged contact information with some of the friends he’d made, and a few short minutes later he found himself rapping lightly on Alex’s door.


	3. "Any Regrets...?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex continue their flirtation as they wrap up loose ends and prepare for the next step: the journey home.

Alex was reaching for his boots when he heard John’s knock at the door. He was across the room in one leap to pull the door open. Or at least, he tried; it was wedged into the frame at a slight angle and required extra effort (and leverage, in the form of his foot against the wall) to open.

The door finally gave way to reveal John standing there, resplendent in his uniform. Alex leaned against the door frame—cheeks flushed, eyes bright—and beamed back at him.

“Hi,” John smirked. “Havin’ some trouble?” He stepped into the room around Alex, turning on the heel of his left boot to face him. “Only an hour before we leave for the airfield. Packed and ready?”

“I have been waiting to leave since the moment I arrived,” Alex answered, kicking the door shut behind him. “I am ready for  _ anything _ .” The door flew closed, struck the frame off-kilter, and bounced off, hitting Alex in the back of the head. He winced. “We’re going to pretend that didn’t just happen.”

John coughed into his fist to muzzle a chuckle. “I wish I could have seen you in basic, Alex.” He handed off the cup of black coffee he’d brought for him, and jerked the handle upwards, leaning gently into the door with his shoulder until it slid effortlessly into the frame. 

“I’m a model soldier; just add coffee.” Alex peeled off the plastic lid, inhaling deeply before taking a swig. It had cooled during John’s walk and was now at the perfect drinking temperature. “Speaking of which, you are an angel in camouflage,” Alex sighed. “Thank you for this.” He took another gulp and hastily set it aside, reaching for John as he turned away from the door.

John joined Alex, their feet dovetailed together, and led him away from the door before he could inflict any further damage. He smiled demurely and lifted Alex's left hand to kiss his knuckles, peering at him from under his lashes. "Any regrets or second thoughts?"

Alex pretended to think about this for a moment, the fingers of his right hand tapping against his lips, before looking John straight in the eye. “No, none.” He reached up to clasp John around the back of the neck. “You?”

He shook his head emphatically and wrapped his arms around Alex’s lower back, where his fingertips found the curve of his spine.  _ Plenty,  _ he thought to himself, but aloud said, "None. How did you sleep?"

“Best night’s sleep I’ve had in a year.” Alex stepped further into the embrace, sliding his arm until John’s neck rested in the crook of his elbow.

John pulled Alex against him so he left the ground for a moment before setting him back down and taking stock of the room. "Did you eat? I see you’re packed, but are you  _ ready _ to go?”

“No, but emphatically  _ yes _ .” He leaned back to a conversational distance, letting John’s arms support some of his weight. “I’m ready to be home.”

John braced Alex, holding onto his trim waist, where Alex’s scar could be felt through the fabric of his t-shirt. “I wanted to see you before we left and I couldn’t touch you like this.” John swallowed, the newness of this deep attraction adding to the nerves and anticipation of leaving Afghanistan.

Alex made a conscientious effort to keep his face impassive, but too late—his eyebrows had already shot up in surprise. “You can still touch me, John. DADT was repealed in 2011.” He kept his tone light, stopping himself before sarcasm edged into his voice. John’s words the other night about Frank echoed in his mind.  _ Only when he’s here and when he’s with me _ … “I’m not your dirty little secret, am I?” he joked.

John stiffened slightly, and shook Alex by the waist playfully. “No, of course not, and it may have been repealed, but homophobia hasn’t been eradicated.” He stepped back until the edge of the bunk hit his legs, and sank down. “I’m just—not used to being out when I’m in uniform. There’s still a lot of homophobia in South Carolina, and trust me, people  _ aren’t _ shy about it. I—I just need to be cautious about this one thing.” He twisted his neck harshly, his ear to his shoulder to peer up at Alex’s face, and offered up a wicked grin. “Put me in civilian clothes and test me.”

Despite John’s enthusiasm, a spike of cold sank into Alex’s stomach, as if he’d swallowed a shard of ice. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around John’s neck, his head pressed against Alex’s chest. “I—I didn’t think of that. It’s a different experience, worlds away from life in New York.” He leaned down to kiss the top of John’s head. 

John leaned back on Alex’s bed, the wool making his palms itch, and relaxed his legs so they fell open. “Charleston is sunny, beautiful, and fun, and I promise you a good time,” he said. “But if we’re going to present ourselves as… together, people will stare. If they’re polite, they’ll stop at that. Can you handle that? I can.” 

Alex managed a smile back, then gathered John into his arms and stayed there, conscious of his breathing as he allowed John’s presence and quiet resolve to buoy his spirit. Any thought he would have given to the implications or consequences of their…  _ liaison  _ had been quashed by emotion and circumstance. With the anticipation of civilian life, compounded by the novelty and immediacy of their connection, he’d allowed himself no opportunity for reflection. A man inclined to deep contemplation, Alex found himself suddenly in need of time to think, to plumb the depths of his attraction to John and explore this new sense of himself. He thought he knew who he was, had never questioned his own identity or the fluidity of sexual behavior, yet something inside him was profoundly grateful John had avoided the term ‘gay.’ Why should that label disturb him while he was holding another man’s body to his own...?

The rational corner of his brain, his relentless superego, told him to reconsider going to South Carolina. He should be back in New York, should be acclimating on his own, should be having a long discussion with Herc. And yet, his impulse had been to choose John. He wanted to be near him, to be a part of his life, to love him. 

_ Love? _

_ That’s… interesting, _ his mind observed. _ So now ‘love’ is acceptable within 48 hours of your first spontaneous same-sex infatuation, while ‘gay’ is not? _

But then again, what was ‘love’ after all? The Ancient Greeks had identified at least eight different forms of love; Alex had known the affectionate  _ Philia  _ of friendship, the inherent  _ Storge  _ of his mother’s devotion, the passionate desire of  _ Eros _ . What John had awakened in him was different, and Alex recognized there was potential here to surpass them all.

He continued his breathing exercise, clearing his mind as he checked in with himself. His body, he found, was calm. The stress-related ailments and physical complaints he’d been suffering during this tour seemed to have abated. He felt whole, he felt at peace.

He felt…  _ safe _ .

With a final breath, he stepped away and began to disentangle himself from John but for one hand. Smiling again, more warmly this time, he said, “Dirty looks I can handle.” He squeezed John’s hand. “Caffeine withdrawal, on the other hand...” Using their clasped hands as leverage, he leaned far to the side, scooping up the cup of coffee and pulling himself upright again.

“I don’t know about you,” John remarked casually while Alex sipped his coffee, “but I have a few calls to make before I make my way over.” It felt good to ask, “Meet you back here and walk over to the hangar together, or just meet you there?”

Alex gulped. “Thanks for the reminder. I ought to let my friends know not to meet me at the airport.”  _ Call Hercules _ , he thought. Nick would understand, but Herc… Herc would  _ understand _ . “I shouldn’t be long, but I’d like to stretch my legs and maybe grab breakfast before we get on a plane for an entire day. Let’s find a place to rendezvous on-base and we’ll head out together.”

“A solid plan,” he agreed with a sharp nod. “How about I meet you back here?” John stood up to leave, letting Alex’s fingers slip from his, and reached for the door handle. Instead of opening the door, though, he wheeled back around and retraced his steps until he was close enough to take Alex’s waist in his hands, and kissed him. Less frantic than the night before, certainly less basal, this kiss bordered on familiar. 

Alex welcomed the embrace, the tender intimacy that was developing between them. The impression of John’s mouth against his lingered long after Alex was alone; he found himself brushing his fingertips over his lips, his thoughts remaining on John’s kiss even as he performed his final once-over. After making sure all was in order, Alex donned his boots and jacket and left the small, spartan room behind.

When John couldn’t find a quiet spot to use the phone, he ended up back in his vacant quarters. He sighed, thinking he’d left the depressing space behind him, and sat on the hard trunk at the end of his bunk, rather than have to remake the bed when he was done. It was too early to call London, four and a half hours behind Kabul time; it was midnight in Charleston, but his sister wouldn’t care, so he called her. It always took a frustratingly long amount of time for calls to connect, but she answered on the first ring. He gave her an abbreviated version of his itinerary, but made no mention of the guest he was bringing along, out of an abundance of caution, uncharacteristic for him. She wanted to wake up their father so he could hear the news as well, but John insisted she let him sleep and rushed through their goodbye when her questions became more prying than practical.

He made a stop in Greene’s tent on the way to refill his canteen, and said goodbye once more, offering some friendly guidance to the aide that replaced him, and with enough cool water to see him through his remaining hour on base, set off to join Alex.

With a few minutes to kill, Alex found himself exploring the Bagram exchange for the first time, discovering (to his chagrin) that there had been an honest-to-God coffee shop the entire time. He nearly wept when he spied the espresso machine. After chatting with the barista, he decided to splurge for not only the most interesting drink on the menu but also a reusable travel mug as a souvenir.  _ Easier to show off than shrapnel scars _ , he told himself.

With a BEC and the Mother of All Beverages in his possession, he headed back to meet John, checking his phone along the way. To his immense delight, he found that it was—at last!—picking up a signal. He glanced at the time, did a quick time zone conversion, crossed his fingers, and dialed.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end was silken and musical.

Alex exhaled with relief. “Thank God you’re still awake.”

“Ale _ xan _ der!” The voice purred, emphasizing each syllable. “Of course I’m up. Just coming off a hot date with the spotlight.”

Alex smirked at the salacious tone—someone was obviously still in character. “How’d it go tonight?”

There was a hiss of air on the other end of the line. “Slayed ‘em all. It’s the very least I can do to keep morale up, without you here to amuse us. And speaking of your imminent return, there’s an empty bed waiting for you, and a bottle of something sweet and bubbly—” 

“Yeah, about that…” Stalling for a moment, Alex took a sip of his coffee. He had a sneaking suspicion he was about to ruin some carefully-laid plans. “I hate to pull this on you, but I’ve had something, er, come up.”

“‘ _ Come up _ ’? What are you talking about?” The seductive note vanished as the timbre dropped by an octave. “Did the Army decide to ship your ass somewhere else? Or you think you got yourself a better offer than your Uncle Hercules?”

Alex bit his lip. Herc wasn’t as angry as he sounded—at least, he hoped not—but he still felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he was taking advantage of his friend’s generosity. Aloud, he said, “Look, I’ve been invited down to Charleston. It’s a long story, and I promise I’ll tell the rest when I get back to the city, but for right now, there’s—” He took a deep breath before letting the words spill out. “I’ve met someone and I need to see where this is going.”

There was a long silence. Alex was about to check that his phone was still connected when he heard a wheezing laughter come from the other end. “Oh, sweet Alexander, I should have  _ known _ you’d be heading south to chase some tail. We gonna get to meet the girl this time?”

Another deep breath. “That’s, uh… there’s something I need to talk to you about.” There was a faint emphasis on the word ‘ _ you.’ _

The laughter cut off abruptly. There was a slight pause, then: “What’s their name?”

“John.”

This time it was Hercules taking an audible breath. “Damn right we need to talk. You drop off the face of the earth for months at a time and  _ this _ is how you break the news?”

Alex rubbed at his temple. “He’s a recent development.”

“And he’s from...  _ Charleston _ .” A hint of amusement crept back into Herc’s voice. “Mmm-hmm. Boy, you do nothing the easy way. Keep yourself safe now, and come spill the tea when you get back.”

“You know I will, Herc.” He checked the time again; he needed to move along. “Listen, I gotta go. Could you do me a favor and get in touch with Fish for me? Just about the change in travel plans.”

There was a loud sigh. He could all but see Hercules, half in makeup, shaking his head at him. “Alright, I gotcha covered. This one time!”

“You’re the best,  _ mon frere _ .” Alex ended the call, hitched his bag higher on his shoulder, and hurried to meet John.

Two privates had made their rounds earlier in a Jeep, picking up John’s trunk and adding it to the others they’d collected to transport, so he carried only his duffel bag. In it, he had two changes of clothes, and a few last-minute souvenirs he’d picked up from the cluster of makeshift shops that made up the mini-mall on base. There was a smattering of fast food trucks and shacks there as well, and while John occasionally treated himself to Pizza Hut with his friends, the Burger King and Popeyes Chicken only made him all the more homesick. 

Alex spotted John first, watched him approach in his easy, loping stride. For a powerfully-built man, John Laurens moved with grace, light on his feet. He caught the instant John picked him out of the crowd, saw the change that came over him as his whole face brightened with affection and relief.  _ Have I ever made anyone so happy to see me before? _ he wondered, dimly aware of the smile on his own face, wide enough to make his cheeks ache.

“Hey!” John said to Alex when he was a few feet away. He wore a brilliant, relaxed smile, the sun reflecting off of his dog tags around his neck. John moved his duffel to his other shoulder, and ran his fingers through the dusty, blonde hair on top of his head. “Hey,” he repeated, coming to a halt a few feet further than he’d like to. “How was breakfast?” John let his duffel drop to the ground with a muted thud, scattering dirt and sand.

Alex held up the travel mug and small paper bag that held his sandwich. “Smells okay.” He flashed John a crooked smile. “I figured I’d eat  _ en route _ . Or, now, if we have time… You want some?” 

John politely declined. “Thank you, but no. I don’t have a big appetite, I’ll wait for the first international airport and grab something then.” 

He set his hands on his hips and looked around thoughtfully. He would miss the business; the activity of the base, and the purpose of military service. Would the purpose that waited for him at home match what he felt here? 

“You get everything done?” he asked, wiping perspiration from his upper lip. 

“All squared away.” Alex handed his travel cup to John as he fished his sandwich out of the bag. “Unless there’s something I’m forgetting.” As if on cue, he heard someone call his name. He whirled around to find Rob Troup jogging up behind them. “Rob! What are you doing?”

“You think I’d let you leave without a proper good-bye? I told you I’d be there to stick you on a plane, and I’m a man of my word.” He held out a hand; Alex switched the sandwich to his left hand in order to shake it. 

“Technically, you know you’re only seeing me as far as the transport, there’s another step or two before we reach the tarmac—”

Fighting an eye roll, Rob turned to John. “Can you manage him from here?”

John was still on edge after Troup had spoken out of turn with him in the chow tent minutes after meeting Alex. “I—yup. Same flight.” he stammered, his sanguine facade broken.

Alex and Rob embraced in a last manly, back-slapping hug; Rob held up a finger to John, gesturing ‘ _ give us a minute _ ,’ and pulled Alex aside.

While the two men spoke privately, John checked his phone and read through an email his brother, Harry, had sent him. He chuckled to himself. Harry was outnumbered at home with a younger and older sister, both of whom gave him a hard time. John looked forward to balancing things out and tapped out a very brief reply: [hey bud, glad to hear from you. I can finally say see you soon. Don’t eat all the food, punk ;)] He hit send, and slipped his phone back inside his pocket.

“Talk to anyone back home?” Troup asked, a casual arm slung over his friend’s shoulder. “Make plans for when you get there?”

Alex nodded. “Got off the phone with Herc a few minutes ago. He was pretty understanding when I said I wouldn’t be back right away.” He looked to Rob and held his gaze. “I’m going to Charleston first.” A grin threatened to break across his face. “I gotta go see a guy about a dog,” he said, invoking their college code phrase for when one of them, typically Alex, had a date.

Rob let out a long-suffering sigh as he clapped Alex on the arm. “Full of endless surprises, as always. Do me a favor, alright? Don’t fuck it up.” He shook his head, glancing over at John. “I will never understand what makes you tick, Ham, but… I hope you’ve found whatever it is that’ll make you happy.” He stepped back and gave his friend a sharp salute. “Safe travels, soldier.”

Alex shifted his belongings around again to return the salute. “Yes, sir!” He winked and headed back to where John stood waiting. 

“How long’s he still here for?” John inquired, nodding a goodbye over Alex’s shoulder as he handed him back his coffee.

“He has maybe another eight months left on this tour.” Alex tucked the coffee close to his chest as he took a bite of the sandwich. The taste didn’t even register. Swallowing, he added, “He’s with the AG Corps, so at least he’s not out there on the front lines.” He lifted his breakfast partway to his mouth, then paused. “Although the safety of a desk job turned out to be wildly overstated in my case.” His eyes scanned the activity around them, until he spotted the captain walking away. “I still believe that if I’m going to lay down my life for the country, I want to be doing something more heroic than a glorified duty roster. But Rob…? I’d rather see him back in New York.” 

“Why’s that?” John asked. “About him, I mean. Is it about wanting your friend to be safe, or is it more than that?” His wristwatch buzzed, an alarm reminding him it was time to get himself to the meeting spot indicated in his travel itinerary. “Tell me on the way?”

Shouldering his bag, Alex nodded and took another bite of bacon, egg, and cheese. He fell into step beside John as they began the walk to the airfield. “Nothing more than that, no ulterior motives or anything nefarious. Rob was my roommate in college; he’s one of the very few good, honest fellows I know.” He continued to eat his breakfast in thoughtful silence for a moment. “There’ve been times, dark times, when I’ve asked myself if he isn’t better suited to the Army than I am.” 

John matched his stride to Alex’s, his own bag carried on his left shoulder, and hummed in thought. “Why the comparison?” John’s eyes were on Alex’s profile now, but he was curious. “I mean, do you feel as though the Army wasn’t the right path for you?”

“It’s something I ask myself from time to time. Is it the Army that’s not right for me, or am I not right for the Army?” Alex popped the last of his breakfast into his mouth, wadding the wrapper into a tight ball in his fist. “Me and Rob, and our friend Nick, we all went through ROTC together. In retrospect, Nick had the right idea—he chose the National Guard, went straight to law school, now he’s a junior associate in Manhattan. Rob and I jumped at the chance to go active duty. I expected, among other things, that it would be my chance to show what I’m  _ truly  _ capable of.” They passed a receptacle overflowing with trash. The sight made Alex exhale noisily with disapproval, but he lobbed the greasy ball of paper into it all the same. “Meanwhile, the Army took one look at my file, and they put me as far from the Infantry as they could.”   
  
A small rock lay in their path, and Alex unleashed his frustration upon it, kicking the stone into the metal wall of a nearby structure. It clanged and bounced away. “You don’t get medals for valor in the AG Corps, but Rob isn’t bothered by that. He's good at what he does, and he's happy doing it. For me, the Army has become nothing more than a bureaucratic wasteland. I can push papers around  _ anywhere  _ and make more of a difference!” He glanced over at John, attempting to read his expression. “You’ve been awfully quiet. Sorry you asked yet?” 

John had halted, clearing the way for Alex to punt the rock with his boot, but remained an attentive listener. “No, I’m not sorry. Wait, did you not command a battalion while you were here?” John left out the fact that he’d been assigned one almost immediately.

Alex laughed hollowly. “I had to join NATO’s Resolute Support Mission to even get out here. If the US Army had its way, I would never leave the Pentagon.” 

“So all that with that André guy was all the action you saw?” John was about to ask for more details when he was propelled forward with a forceful shove to his upper back.

“Laurens! Ready to get the fuck outta here, 47?” Major Stephen Williams was gripping the back of John’s neck, leaning in close with a laugh that bordered on obnoxious. The gum he began smacking tipped him over. 

John’s laugh was more polite than sincere, and he avoided looking at Alex, watching Williams, who had jogged ahead and was now facing both men while marching backwards. 

“Hey,” he called to Alex. “Know why we call him 47? 'Cuz he’s got that B-D-E!” he shouted, slapping the outside of stiff hands against his groin, thrusting with each pronounced letter, which ended up beckoning a man with the name Schultz embroidered on his cap, who’d heard the shouting.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Schultz agreed. “47, you’re flying home too?” Schultz focused on Alex, walking backwards next to Williams. “Laurens here—he drove a humvee with a fucking GSW and a puncture wound from a blade of some kind—it was a blur—drove all of us out of there and back to base before he passed out from blood loss. Barely managed to stop the vee before he just slumped over.” Schultz stepped forward so John halted and kissed his cheeks. “That’s from my wife, who’s thankful you saved my sorry ass!”

Alex, whose quick steps carried him several feet past the others before he managed to stop, turned to the newcomers gathered around John. He regarded them with narrowed eyes, his right eyebrow arched to the stratosphere. “Can we go back to the ‘47’ for a moment? Because as a measurement, metric or standard, that is  _ not _ right.” 

“Means big cock,” Williams offered while John blushed and picked up the pace. Walking alongside Alex now, Williams explained, “Technically, the nickname is AK-47, but you can’t go ‘round shouting AK-47 here, so we just call him 47, ain’t that right, 47?” He turned to look for John, but he had put some distance between himself and the others.

“Y’all are too much!” John called back, before halting abruptly and gesturing to Alex to catch up. He had to stop himself from reaching for his hand.

“We’ll save you a seat!” John heard, although he wasn’t sure which man said it.

“My friends have better manners,” he said quietly to Alex, moving closely beside him as the hangar came into view.

“Let’s hope so, Kalashnikov.” His eyes flicked over to John, trying to gauge his disposition. “Is that how it happened?” he ventured, realizing he’d never pressed John for more information about his wounds. “That scar on your side… the stab wound, I take it.”  _ That would account for most of the blood loss _ , Alex thought, summoning up mental anatomy charts.  _ Hard to believe he managed to get out of that without further internal injury _ . Alex felt a phantom twinge in his side, in psychosomatic sympathy. 

“So I’m told,” John answered, eyes facing forward. “I never saw it. I didn’t know about that one until I came to.”

When Williams and Schultz headed left towards the hangar, John steered Alex right. “You have any nicknames here, Faucette?” he asked, grinning mischievously.

“None that they called me to my face.” Alex’s mouth twisted dramatically into a scowl, showing what he thought of that. “Behind my back, they took to calling me ‘Simba.’” Off John’s confused look, he added, “Because I’m a ‘little lion.’” There was a pause. “It’s the hair.” Alex made a circling gesture around his head, mimicking a red mane. “...aaand, my temper,” he admitted. 

John smirked, and threw a casual arm over Alex’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll be on the lookout for the roar, and that temper,” he purred flirtatiously behind Alex’s ear.

“Alright, everyone fall in!” a Sergeant bellowed, standing with a clipboard in front of a half dozen long rows of benches. There were several dozen men and women milling about in conversation, and every face bore a smile. “Sooner we get through the paperwork, the sooner we get you the hell out of here and back to your families, so when I call your name, let me know you’re here, collect your things and find a seat on this A400 behind me! Anderson!”

It wasn’t long before he called ‘Faucette’ (a name which still felt unreal to Alex, though more than a year had passed since his name change had been finalized). He gave John’s elbow a discreet squeeze and nodded to the Sergeant as he passed by on his way to the plane. He paused at the top of the ramp to wait for John, and sure enough, ‘Laurens’ was called a few moments later. 

John watched with a sense of pride as the Sergeant saluted Alex when he passed, and nodded when he received the same. 

“Save me a seat?” he asked Alex when he reached him.

“Take your pick.” Alex gestured to the mostly vacant fuselage. “On second thought,” he corrected, hearing more names being called. “Unless you want your buddies to join us, let’s grab the end of that row, over there.” Pushing John ahead of him, he swiftly guided him to a pair of empty seats ringed by already-seated soldiers. Alex thrust John and his long legs into the aisle seat, then vaulted over him to take the other. 

Gradually, the seats around them filled and the crew prepared for takeoff. Alex finally took a sip of the coffee he’d been carrying around, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was both excellent and still hot, therefore justifying the purchase of the travel mug. He found himself grinning. Catching John’s eye, he pressed a knee against his and beamed up at him.

“Home,” said Alex, exultant. He couldn’t tell if what he felt was happiness or caffeine, but he fairly vibrated from it. “This is it, time for us to go home.” 


	4. "Tell Me Something Easy"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With 18 hours of travel time between Kabul and New York City, John and Alex are afforded the luxury of two plane rides to get to know each other.

The first leg of their journey was uneventful to a fault. With other service members, all in high spirits, packed in around them like sardines in a can, it soon became evident that the opportunity for any sort of private conversation—let alone intimate contact—had gone right out the window.  _ Metaphorically speaking, that is _ , Alex thought, looking around the cabin and noting that the walls were lined with cables and equipment and seated soldiers, not a single window visible.

He felt the gradual motion that meant they were taxiing into position, followed by the acceleration and roar of engines that launched them into the air. Not being able to judge their speed or see their surroundings unnerved Alex, whose heart was in his throat until a great cheer went up around them. He gave John a shaky, tight-lipped smile before leaning down to pull several paperbacks from the bag at his feet. He held them out, proffering them to John. “Need something to read?” he asked. “I always come prepared.” He shuffled through them to show off the titles; he had with him  _ Catch-22 _ ,  _ A Tale of Two Cities _ , a collection of Agatha Christie mysteries, and  _ Outlander. _ “Er, that one’s not mine,” he added quickly.

John, who had seen the promos for  _ Outlander _ , raised an eyebrow and accepted the heavy paperback with a sheepish smile. “I’ll probably enjoy the history,” he explained with a half-shrug. 

They passed the next several hours by reading and dozing, playing a game here and there on their phones. Alex finished his coffee early on, something he regretted for the last two hours of the flight.

When at last they deplaned in Istanbul, Alex murmured to John that he’d meet him at their connecting flight and took off to find a men’s room, allowing John a final farewell to the troops he’d been serving with.

John scanned Alex’s back as he left him, down to his ass, until he caught himself. He cleared his throat and answered a question that was lobbed his way. 

“Charleston. South Carolina.” He excused himself, and found a quiet corner near an area under construction to make a video call to extended family in London. When he was done, he looked for signs for a men’s room, his duffel bag flung over his shoulder. 

Alex, meanwhile, took the opportunity not only to relieve himself, but also to wash and dry his travel mug, tucking it away in his bag, and then to splash some cool water on his face before hurrying to the gate for the last leg of their journey.

With seats assigned, John decided to board, rather than wait for Alex.  _ Should’ve asked him where his seat was while I had the chance _ , he reflected. 

To his satisfaction, each service member returning home on this particular flight had been upgraded to First Class, and were personally informed by the three pilots as they boarded. They were individually thanked for their service. John nodded politely to each. “Thank you—thank you—appreciate that—thank you,” he responded to each as he made his way onto the aircraft. 

John was shown to his seat by an attendant, who offered to stow his carry on, but old habits die hard and he declined, preferring to secure his own belongings. Perhaps if he wasn’t still in uniform, he’d feel less guarded. As it was, he wanted his things tucked neatly under the seat in front of him. He had been assigned an aisle seat, which afforded him room to stretch his long legs, and once he’d settled into his seat, turned around to look for Alex, speaking briefly to the other members flying to New York on this flight.

Once on the plane, Alex was delighted to find that service members had been upgraded. He greeted the pilots, shaking hands before he pulled out his boarding pass to double-check the seating assignment. His eyes scanned the layout and counted row numbers until he spotted his seat...  _ beside John! _ Grinning ear-to-ear, he flung his duffel bag into the overhead compartment and himself into the seat by the window. Still smiling, he caught John’s eye and mouthed,  _ First class?!  _ Alex had rarely been on a plane before, let alone seated somewhere other than coach. 

When John heard Alex’s voice, he was firing off text messages, letting people know he’d boarded. He looked up in time to catch him heading for the empty seat next to him, and his face broke out in an easy smile. He quickly closed out his apps and locked his phone before tucking it into the compartment in front of him, along with his earbuds, and charger. His MultiCam ACU jacket was folded over his armrest. 

John stretched his legs out, crossing his ankles, and folded his hands behind his head, waggling his eyebrows. “Not bad eh? We might even get a hot in-flight meal, not that I have much of an appetite.”

The cabin doors were secured and the aircraft pulled away from the terminal, and while the plane began taxiing towards the runway, a pilot came on the speaker. 

“Gooooood afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, I’m Captain Cooper, one of the pilots taking you to New York, where it’s a balmy 67 degrees at the moment. Flight and cabin crew would like to take a moment to acknowledge the nine service men and women flying with us today, so everyone give them a round of applause.” After a few moments of applause with varying degrees of enthusiasm, he came back on. “It’s a privilege to bring you all home today. God bless our troops.”

While the cabin crew began their memorized instructions, John angled himself towards the window so he could watch their takeoff, his knee brushing Alex’s. “How are you?” he whispered.

“Fantastic!” Alex whispered back. Outside, Istanbul began to streak past, then fall away. This time, as Alex's heart leapt into his throat, it was with exhilaration. Impulsively, he reached for John’s hand and grasped it, paying rapt attention to the shrinking landscape as they left the Middle East behind.

It was only once the plane had leveled out that he turned away from the window to look at John. “ _ Finally _ . We’re going  _ home _ .”

Alex’s fingers were warm between John’s, and he squeezed them before delicately taking his hand back. He liked the way Alex said home, knowing he meant America. After they landed, home would take on new meanings for each man. Charleston for John; New York for Alex. He sucked in a shaky breath and exhaled slowly through pursed lips. “So. When does school start for you?”

Alex glanced down at his hand, still feeling the warmth of John’s grip, then settled back in his seat. “Law school? That’ll be another year, at least.” His mouth twitched in annoyance. “I’m scheduled to take the LSATs next month, and the early decision deadline is mid-November. One way or another, I’ll know by the end of the year, which gives me at least eight months to set aside money for tuition.” His expression was now approaching a scowl. “I am so sick of having my life on hold,” he added before turning his attention back to John. “What about you? What’s your next step?”

“I’m—I’m actually moving next week. When I left, I lived with my father and siblings, but I have my own place now, just waiting for me to show up. My life has been on hold, too, like everyone but me is paused.” John looked at Alex seated beside him and smiled. Alex was nice to talk to; comfortable. He took a deep breath, and glanced over Alex’s shoulder at the sky. “So my next step is unpacking, I guess. I have some time before law school in January, which gives me time to adjust.”

Alex settled into his seat, twisting to face John while bringing a knee up to rest his elbow on. He took comfort in listening to John’s voice, though he longed for the touch of his nimble fingers. After their earlier flight, he was glad to have John talking more; not only did it mitigate his own need to speak constantly, but what little he knew of John’s life fascinated him. He spoke of all the things Alex most craved—family, home, a place to belong—but also sounded as though he were Atlas, crushed by the weight of his responsibilities. Would he want to switch lives? Couch-surf for years at a time, not knowing which of his relatives recalled his face, or if they were even alive to do so?  _ Not that it makes one situation necessarily better than the other _ , he reminded himself, but their backgrounds were distinct in their dissimilarity.

One detail jumped out at Alex, something he was desperate to know but loathe to bring up: John had yet to mention his mother, either directly or in passing. Semi-orphaned as he was, it was a bond Alex suspected they shared, but how could he ask without tearing open those wounds, John’s or his own? He still had the occasional nightmare reliving the night his mother died; could he inflict that on this man who, as far as Alex could tell, was kind and gentle to his core?

These were things Alex wasn’t ready to discuss, not as they were still leaving Turkish airspace and almost half a day’s flight from North America. “Sounds like you’re living the dream—or mine, at least. The way things look, it’s going to be a while before I can get my own place.”

“I wouldn’t say my life is anyone’s dream,” John said, his voice sour. It wasn’t fair that Alex had to struggle in any way, when John could easily take away every one of his financial worries. Subconsciously, he had angled his body towards Alex more, and lowered his voice to preserve their privacy. “Tell me something easy… when’s your birthday? What’s your favorite food? Do you have any siblings?” John bit the inside of his lip. Did Alex already mention a brother? He couldn’t remember.

An attendant came around and offered both men menus. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“I would like a can of Pepsi if you have one,” he smiled. She produced one as though it were the last can on earth, and he grinned at her. “You’re an angel. Thank you. I’d like a minute to go over the menu if that’s ok, could you circle back to me?” 

“Of course,” she said sweetly before leaning over John slightly to talk to Alex. “And you, Sir? Can I get you anything?”

“Some ice water would be fine for now, thank you.” Alex’s smile was cordial, a marked difference from his usual inclination to charm the flight attendant. Back home, his friends never missed a chance to complain how he flirted with every waitress or cashier he crossed paths with; now, the dark-eyed beauty made little impression on him, his attention consumed by his travelling companion. Alex planned to take advantage of every second of John’s time during this flight.

Even if it meant revealing more than he’d initially planned. Alex released a held breath as the attendant handed him a cup of cold water with a lemon slice and moved along. He glanced back at John, then about the cabin as he spoke. 

“Easy  _ questions _ , maybe. I’ll try to give you the easy answers. I was born mid-January, as near as I can tell. I mark the occasion on the 11th. Favorite food…?” He sighed, the thought of being back among New York’s restaurant scene making him wistful. “I can’t decide—does coffee count? What else... Siblings. Brothers, one-and-a-half.” Suddenly parched, he took a sip of water. “What about you?” He forced himself to give John a pleasant smile as he waited expectantly for answers; inside, he prayed for John to avoid the inevitable follow-ups.

One corner of John’s mouth curled into a smile as Alex answered his questions without elaborating. Who doesn’t know their own birthday? Whatever the story was there, it felt too soon to ask. John looked over the menu and proposed, “Share some food with me… there’s a cheese plate with olives and tomatoes, but I can’t eat the whole thing.” He handed Alex the menu and casually touched his knee while he looked it over. “Birthday… October 28th… favorite  _ foods _ ,” he emphasized, “My mother’s peach cobbler, which my sister now makes, and Maria’s jalapeno cornbread , and… let’s see—siblings… Martha, Harry, and Mary Eleanor, all younger than me.”

John took a sip of his Pepsi and swallowed the memory of James.

Alex skimmed the menu. He couldn’t think of food at the moment, but then, he often couldn’t think of food until it arrived in front of him. However, he could feel John’s eyes as they roamed over his face and took a minute to enjoy the admiration. “Tolkien was wrong,” Alex said, handing the menu back. “The two most beautiful words in the English language are ‘share food.’”

He returned John’s attention, admiring his easy, confident manner and the way he wore a uniform like he was born to it—a walking recruitment poster, an officer  _ and  _ a gentleman. 

“So, you’re the oldest of four? Tell me more about your family. I assume I’m going to meet them...?”

John looked over his shoulder at the attendant and, having made eye contact, winked. She held up one index finger and mouthed,  _ I’ll be right there _ . He smiled and nodded politely before turning back to Alex. “Affirmative to both. I apologize in advance for introducing you to my family before we’ve had a proper date.” He leaned his head against his headrest and looked apologetically at Alex.

The attendant appeared at John’s side and offered to take the menu from him. “We’ll have the fresh fruit cup and cheese plate,” he told her, and handed back both menus, declining a second soda. He tilted his head flirtatiously in Alex’s direction, looking at him through long eyelashes turned golden from the sun and lightly touched his wrist. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Alex looked back at him through bedroom eyes, grinning a puckish grin. “What would you say if I ordered a Scotch right about now?” He burst out laughing at the thought before John could react. With a wave of  _ I wasn’t serious _ , Alex looked up at the attendant and with all the charm he could muster, asked, “Would you happen to have decaf coffee? I want something hot, but even I need to sleep sometimes.”

She answered in the affirmative and left, presumably to take care of their orders. Alex wondered, not for the first time, of the tales flight attendants must share when they were sequestered behind their curtains. Service jobs could be soul-crushing, as he knew from experience, and their best stories became currency.

“Now I wish you  _ had _ ordered a Scotch,” John teased. He leaned in towards Alex while she made his coffee, and ran the back of his finger along Alex’s jaw. “It could have served as my in-flight entertainment.”

Before Alex had a chance to respond, he had his decaf and a cup of fruit in front of him. John accepted the covered container containing slices of cheese, olives, and crackers, and thanked the attendant, only now bothering to read her name tag. “Thank you—Dawn.”

“You’re welcome, let me know if either of you need anything. We do have Scotch if you’re interested,” she added. 

John laughed and opened his tray table, sitting up. As soon as he removed the lid, the aroma of olives and basil topped mozzarella filled their space. “Hey, I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” John began, unrolling his cloth napkin to find a small fork. “Now that you’re a civilian again are you going to grow out your hair?”

“Yes!” Alex’s hand went automatically to where his hair (longer on top than John’s but still within regulation) was shellacked in place, and he let it linger there. Self-conscious under John’s appraising eye, he rubbed at his forehead and finally reached for a round of the fresh cheese, tearing off a strip to nibble on. “I don’t think I had a professional haircut until I was in my teens. It still feels strange to have it this short, like it exposes too much of my face.” He pulled off another piece of the mozzarella and curled up in his seat, back against the wall and facing John. “Thanks, by the way. Eating was a good call.”

He picked at his snack for another minute, flicking his eyes to John every so often before he spoke again. “So… you were about to tell me about your family?” he said, with practiced nonchalance. 

John hummed. Alex seemed insecure, averting his eyes so John couldn’t hold his gaze. About his appearance, or people’s perception of him, he wasn’t sure. John cautiously checked their perimeter to find everyone else engrossed in their reading, phones, or outright sleeping. He reached out to touch his face, skimming his thumb along his jaw. “You have a very handsome face,” he said low. His voice dropped lower still to add, “Very sexy,” before popping an olive into his mouth. “And was I? What do you want to know?”

The low growl in John’s voice sent a shiver through Alex that he felt right down to his very soul. He gave John a look that said ‘ _ If we were not on this plane right now, so help me God…! _ ’ and leaned forward to place his half-eaten piece of cheese onto a napkin and make several selections from their shared plate. “Only everything,” he answered, slipping a small tomato into his mouth. “I expect a full briefing and printed dossiers before we land.” Still pressed forward, he wrapped his free arm about his folded knees and gazed eagerly at John.

“Alright,” John laughed. He tended to tuck his life neatly inside a “CONFIDENTIAL” file of sorts; few were permitted to peek inside. With Alex, he wanted to know if there was something special possible, and he was willing to let his guard down in order to get an answer. He sucked in a deep breath and picked up a plump grape, rolling it around in his fingers before tossing it into his mouth. “Martha and I are almost five years apart, but we’re very close. We’ve been partners, in a way, since I was fifteen and she was eleven.” He chewed his grape and picked up another, “Harry’s name is actually Henry Jr., but we’ve always called him Harry. He’s very into video games and girls right now so it’s hard to have a conversation with him,” he laughed. “I wish we were closer, but he tends to get overlooked,” he explained, as John stared at the tray before them. Harry was John’s only surviving brother, something he wasn’t ready to share yet, and he wondered how his absence had affected him the past four years. 

Then John’s face broke into a brilliant smile, and his eyes sparkled as he leaned closer to Alex, resting his elbow on the spacious armest between them. “And then there’s Mary Eleanor. We just call her Mary. I was fifteen when she was born and she’s had me wrapped around her finger ever since.” He chuckled and cleared his throat, all at once desperate to see her. “She drives my father crazy with her shenanigans, but they only make me love her more.”

Alex studied John’s radiant face as he spoke about his brother and sisters, hanging on every word. He tried to ignore the growing hollowness in his chest, his emotions made manifest and threatening to cut off his air. As John began talking about his youngest sister, his face grew positively incandescent, and tears began to prick at the back of Alex’s eyes. He plopped the snacks in his hand down by his cup of coffee and instinctively reached for John’s hand. Catching himself at the last second, Alex looked away, biting his lip until he trusted himself to speak.

“You have no idea how much I envy you,” he said with a voice like sandpaper. “What I wouldn’t give to have a home and family waiting for me right now.”

_ I’m sorry _ , John mouthed, clutching Alex’s fingers to his. He wanted to wrap his arms around Alex, hold him close and take away the familiar sense of loss Alex experienced. 

Alex’s hand closed, tightening about John’s with a pressure that was deliberate but undemanding, limited by circumstance yet full of promise. From John’s touch, Alex drew strength, a solace that had been lacking in his life for years. Feeling comforted after several moments, he eased away. “Thank you,” he breathed, his fingertips brushing against John’s as he took back his hand.

John’s smile was easy and reassuring. “So, tell me, what do you do for fun besides flirt with innocent Southern men?” he asked casually. “What are your favorite ways to spend free time?” 

"I didn't flirt and you're not that innocent." Alex winked and reached for a slice of apple, snapping it in half and taking a bite while he thought. What  _ did _ he do with himself? The last two years had been work, work, and more work. “‘Free time’ was in short supply this tour. I spent part of it flat on my back, so when I was finished recuperating, it was all PT and keeping the operation running. Mostly I read whatever I could get my hands on and scribbled angry polemics in the margins of notebooks.” He paused to eat another bite of apple. “But when I’m back home?” The thought made him smile as he picked up his cup and swirled it under his nose. “That’s what I love best about New York, there’s always something happening.” He took a sip of coffee, warming to the conversation. “I get together with a group of friends every week or so. We’ve been doing it since college, like our own literary society. We have dinner, a few drinks, discuss what we've been reading and what’s happening in the world, that sort of thing. Also I love getting out in the city—there’s always lecture series, dancing, cultural events happening around the city. A good friend of mine does costume design. He lets me know what’s going on, even scores me tickets sometimes.” Closing his eyes, Alex could picture the brilliant lights and marquees of the theatre district as clearly as if he were standing there. He pulled his mind back to the present, to John sitting beside him, and finished off his apple. “What about you?” 

John plucked a slice of red apple from the tray and bit off an end. “Sounds a lot like what I did actually, minus the lectures. I get enough of those from my father. I enjoy being outside, especially in the summer. Going to art galleries and spending time at the beach, football games with friends, or brunch, which no-one drives to because we all drink far too much sangria and mimosas.” He laughed light-heartedly, but inside, he’d been harboring insecurities about acclimating to civilian life, in particular with his friends. He’d been absent for weddings, college graduations and countless milestones. He knew they were still friends but worried he’d feel like a third wheel. Especially with the more recent developments in his life. Would he be able to balance a busy home life with his family, his own personal goals, and still have time for his friends? Or love? He bit off another piece of apple, chewed, and swallowed before asking, “Hey, you’re not allergic to dogs, are you?”

“No! Are you kidding, I  _ love  _ dogs. When I was a kid, I used to bring them home all the time.” Alex’s attempt at laughter turned rueful. “The islands are full of stray dogs. It’s a real problem in some places; tourists don’t want to pay all that money to see packs of sick, starving animals. Others will feed them, so they learn to keep coming back.” He snagged a cracker from the plate in front of John, biting it in half. “These days, there are dedicated rescue organizations so tourists can adopt them, take them home. In my day, you snuck them scraps until someone caught them in the house and had to chase them off with a dishtowel.” This time, the laughter came easily with the image of his normally unflappable mother, screaming at the top of her lungs in her own patois of curses and snapping a towel at the unfazed mongrel eating out of her cookpot. The sight had almost been worth the amount of trouble he’d caught for it. Alex pulled himself out of his reverie and caught John’s eye, popping the rest of the cracker into his mouth. “Somehow, I don’t think you mean those kinds of dogs.” 

John nibbled on what was left of his slice of apple, listening to Alex, easily imagining a young boy with flaming hair and freckles sneaking food to stray dogs. He added compassion to his list of things he liked about Alex. “No, I mean pets, although you’re making me want to visit this place and adopt a dog. We have a few dogs, well, my father has dogs, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t allergic.”

“If I am, I’ve never noticed. That’s another thing I’d love someday, a dog of my own.” His hand wavered between water and coffee before finally selecting the coffee, draining the last of the bitter liquid into his mouth. The image of the dilapidated kitchen still lingered in his mind. Memories from his childhood were buried deep; bringing them out into the light left him feeling vulnerable, as though he were still the small, powerless boy he had been years ago. Next to John, who was seemingly well-off, the old shame of his destitute origins bubbled up.  _ We’re not going to do this now _ , he thought, balling up the emotions and shoving them down again.  _ Look to the future _ , he reminded himself.  _ Where you’ve been doesn’t matter, it’s where you’re going… _

“Where do you think you’ll be in five years?” Alex blurted out, then winced. “I swear, this isn’t a job interview.” Shaking his head, he added, “What I’m getting at is... what are you working towards? What do you want out of life?” 

“So I guess we’re moving on from easy questions,” John teased and reached across to rub Alex’s knee before leaning on the armrest towards him. “Five years, huh?” John's fingertips played at his bottom lip as he tried to imagine his future. Some of it came easily, some he wasn’t ready to share, and some he just didn’t know. “In Charleston, geographically. I’d like my college days to be behind me, and I plan to be making my own money.”

Alex chuckled at that. “Nice to know other people don’t have it  _ all  _ figured out.” He lay his arm next to John’s, sharing the armrest as he shifted to tuck his left foot up onto the seat, beneath his right thigh. He kept his gaze forward as he spoke, the backs of his fingers brushing John’s.

“If there is one thing that I do know, it’s this: my life will not be insignificant,” he said in a soft voice. “I’ve believed that all my life. I haven’t figured out what exactly it is that I’m meant to do, but I  _ know _ that I’m here for a reason. I thought that if I served our country, became part of something bigger than myself, that would be it, but the only thing it’s done is drawn back the curtain and shown me more flaws in the system. My hope was to study law in order to  _ help _ people, but the court system is just another institution where the deck is stacked. The more I learn, the more I’m convinced that going into politics will be the best way for me to enact change...” His voice trailed off, lost in thought. 

As a child, John was certain that he was meant for greatness; something in the public eye. As a teen, he dismissed that sense of purpose as a product of his last name. He didn’t want to be known for his name; he wanted to leave his own mark on the world.

He also believed that Alex was meant for great things, but he was surprised that politics was on the table. “Politics, eh? Dare I ask what party?”

That animated Alex and broke through the melancholy settling over him. “Well, I wasn’t about to go  _ there _ , but—” He sat up straight, gesturing as his thoughts picked up speed. “I will freely admit that I dislike the idea of labels in general and adherence to the two-party system in particular.  _ However _ : I allow myself to be pigeon-holed in this manner for  _ two  _ reasons, the first being that New York is a closed-primary state. I’ve given this a great deal of thought, and until we have a complete overhaul and reform of the American electoral system, I believe that it is more damaging to be locked out of voting at the primary level than to stick to my principles and remain unaffiliated.”

Alex paused to breathe. As every word in John’s soft Southern drawl reminded him, there was one potential conflict they hadn’t approached. He needed to get this out, and if this turned out to be their incompatibility…  _ Well, better to find out now _ . He swallowed audibly before continuing. 

“The second reason is that I believe the modern GOP is morally bankrupt, devoid of any intellect, conscience, or human decency they may once have had. Desperate to regain power, they propped up this narcissistic, tissue-paper populist whose self-serving delusions of grandeur threaten to bring down everything this country has stood for! I find their stance on social issues repugnant, their abandonment of scientific advancement abhorrent, and their _ economic policies—? _ ” He gave a hollow laugh. “It’s been shown time and again that Democratic policies are better for the economy—regulation, intervention, and the support of social welfare programs all  _ promote  _ stability and growth—and their instinct to distrust businessmen is correct; meanwhile Republicans give them  _ carte blanche _ , perpetuating the myth that capitalist markets are self-regulating.” His voice took on a mocking, nasal pitch. “‘Lower taxes and small government free up capital and grow the economy.’ What a contemptible lie! It’s no coincidence that earnings and the GDP have both been shown to  _ rise  _ under Democratic presidents, but the data is clear that overall, wages have been steadily  _ shrinking _ since 1973… which is when they cut tariffs and moved the country away from the American School to a free market economy.”

“One last thing…” Alex paused to hold up his index finger as he grabbed a quick sip of water, his mouth gone dry in the recirculated air. “It’s worth noting that there are over 3 million active registered Democrats in the five boroughs and fewer than half a million Republicans, so go ahead and take a wild guess which side I fall on.” 

He punctuated the end of his rant by thumping back into his seat. When John did not immediately begin to argue with him, Alex hazarded a smile. “It’s good to sound like myself again. All the British officers were starting to rub off on me.” He leaned in towards John once more, their forearms pressed together on the armrest. “Watch, one week in South Carolina and you’ll have me talking like a ‘good ol’ boy.’”

John listened to Alex with attention that bordered on reverence. The way Alex organized his thoughts, which was seemingly on the fly, was nothing short of brilliant. “I—I agree with you on all points, and I’d add a few of my own, but I think it’s important that I tell you before you see what the South is like that I’m a registered Democrat. My father, however, is not, so consider yourself warned. Don’t worry, though. We won’t be spending much time there, I don’t think. So, what do you want to do this week?”

“Aside from our boat trip?” Alex curled his index finger around John’s, stroking it with his fingertip and savoring the electric shiver that ran down his spine at the touch. “I’ve no idea. Aside from a couple of Pat Conroy novels, all I know of South Carolina comes from a little history and what you’ve told me.” Alex rifled through his mental files. “Fort Sumter is there, right? That I wouldn’t mind seeing. Maybe some pre-Civil War historical sites as well. Other than that and sampling the local cuisine, I want you to show me  _ your _ Charleston, why you love it and what makes you keep coming back.” Something was missing.  _ Picture South Carolina _ , he thought, squinting as he tried to come up with it.  _ What comes to mind? Shrimp & grits… seceding from the Union… _ “Oh! Jazz! If you know a place we can hear some good jazz or blues music, I would love that.” 

John nodded at Alex’s suggestions, mentally planning the best days for activities. “Fort Sumter is great. I told you I minored in History, right? We could spend all week visiting historical sites from the American Revolution and Civil War and not get bored, but I want… You know what? Let me just…” John leaned forward and pulled his cell phone from the compartment in front of him, then logged back onto the in-flight wifi. He opened the Instagram app, tapped the heart to clear his notifications, ignoring the comments, tags, and likes since the last time he’d logged in and scrolled until he saw a post from Melvin’s BBQ. “There, we have to go to Melvin’s. Or maybe pick up takeout for the boat, we’ll see.” He clicked on their page and handed Alex his phone so he could scroll through. “Really, really good barbecue. I’ve missed their food the most while I was gone, aside from Maria’s.” While Alex scrolled, John’s gaze followed the angle of his neck. 

Alex brought up the menu and scrolled through, several items catching his attention. He didn’t quite get the appeal of barbecue as a cuisine, but then again, he’d never lived anywhere ‘barbecue’ was considered a way of life. “Well, we’ve  _ got _ to order some burnt ends, I’ve never even seen them up in Yankee country… don’t know what hash & rice is, I  _ have  _ to try it now, and—” Alex gasped suddenly. “ _ Okra? _ I can’t remember the last time I had okra. It might have been when I was still in the West Indies.” He turned to John, his face alight. “You’re brilliant, you know that?” 

John laughed and took the phone back, locking it. “It’s just barbecue. You’ll have plenty of southern comfort food at my father’s house, and okra is often on the menu. Maria is likely cooking up a storm right now, preparing all of my favorite dishes for me,” he said, slapping his flat stomach lightly for emphasis. 

He tapped the spyglass on his screen and typed in ‘NV,’ then touched the account he was already following. “There’s a place called NV that has a nice atmosphere, rooftop deck, and it’s actually a restored historical building.”.

Alex’s fingers brushed John’s as he angled the phone to get a better look. “I don’t have much experience with clubs, but I like the sound of a rooftop deck.” He gave John a quick wink before settling comfortably into his seat, their heads touching. “Hey, you know me, I’m willing to try anything twice.” 

“I don’t know you, actually,” John chuckled softly. “But I enjoy spending time with you,” he whispered. He sank down into the seat a little further, comfortable with Alex against him. “You came out of nowhere, Alex,” he huffed quietly into Alex’s soft hair.

“You think  _ I _ came out of nowhere,” murmured Alex, closing his eyes with sudden drowsiness. “You completely blindsided me.” He allowed himself to relax, lulled by the sound of the engines and the warmth of John’s body nearby. “I never knew you were possible,” he whispered before slipping into unconsciousness. 

John smiled and nuzzled the back of Alex’s head as he drifted off, his right hand settled on his hip and marveled that it not only felt second nature, but entirely new and exhilarating at the same time. When Alex’s breathing grew shallow, he unlocked his phone with his thumb to update Martha.

[Hey. Thought I’d let you know I’m bringing someone with me when I come home.]

[Oh? Bringing someone home or bringing someone with you? 😏]

[Both. Just met him but it might be something. He’ll be in the guest house.]

[Mmhmm. And where will you be?]

[Haven’t discussed it yet, but I will before we get there. Can you tell dad please? Just tell him he’s a friend from Bagram.]

[Will do. You sure this is a good idea with everything happening?]

[He lives in New York. He’s coming for the week to visit and so we can get to know each other... see if this is something we both want to pursue long distance.]

[New York?! Wow. You do like your city boys. Does he know about E?]

[Stop… and not yet. I’ll tell him this week, but it’s too early. If it’s a no for him I don’t want it to be awkward the rest of his trip. I want him to enjoy himself. He deserves it.]

[Alright, I’ll let dad know. And Maria… the fridge in the guest house may not close when she’s done.]

[😍 I can’t wait. And hug her for me. Hey, I have a new pic… I’ll send it to you.]

[Yay! Don’t go yet though… what’s he like? What’s his name? Is he cute?]

[No, he’s ugly 😏. His name is Alex, he’s studying to be a lawyer. Very intelligent. Bit serious and intense at times, but also makes me laugh. Quick stop in NY, then I’ll make arrangements for a connecting flight for us both.]

[Dad was talking about hiring a private jet to get you home quicker. Think Alex would object? 😂]

[No private jet! Domestic flight is fine. I’m gonna try and get some sleep. TTYL. 💕]

[Don’t forget to send me the picture! I’ve been going crazy counting the days. Love you.]

[Ditto. Almost home to stay.]

He sent her the photo immediately knowing she’d harass him if he didn’t, and she promptly sent back a crying emoji with a dozen or so hearts. He smiled and put his phone in the pocket of his jacket, nestled in closer to Alex, and dozed off.


End file.
